Kisses of Ten
by MistroStrings
Summary: BOOK ONE. "Kisses on the doorway of the murdered," she said slowly. She fixed her eyes on Holmes, who seemed to be in a daze. "Fantastic," Watson laughed, throwing his arms in the air. "Another case." Holmes x OC Holmes/OC
1. Inventing A Job

One wheel.

Two wheels.

Three wheels.

All perfectly placed together. The ridges of them lined equally; intended to be in perfect unison with one another. My quick feet rushed me over to the crank on the other side of the door. I twisted it and awaited the noise. Suddenly, like a whistle in silence, the beautiful chime of a bell rung out. I grinned happily to myself. I had finished another invention.

My idea was that if someone walks up to my door and I am in the middle of things it is exceedingly uncouth to barge in and disrupt me. Most people continue to do so however, so I have very carefully elaborated a lock onto my door in which the person outside turns the crank, the crank releases a pebble into a bucket with then tips over, hitting a wheel, which then activates another, and then another, all in which lifts a string—which has a bell neatly hung at the bottom of it.

Pointless? Yes. Very much so. In fact, the whole time I could have simply purchased a lock. However, was it a good way to waste my time besides conversing with people? Yes, indeed. I think so.

"Renadale!" I heard someone shout my name, interrupting my thought process. It was my mother, who always had a keen way of taking me by surprise. My mother Judith is a very charming woman (more in manner than in features, mind you) as well as a very loud social butterfly. With her it was all parties, parades, shows, weddings, circuses, whatever she could lay her gloved paws on. However, she is discribed to be 'big-boned' and rather plain, so I don't know if butterfly is the best comparison. "What are you doing up there locked away in that dusty old shack?" I heard her feet approach my door. Staying silent, I wanted to see how she would react to my latest creation. "What's this thing on your door?" She said, annoyed. "You know Renadale, doors are expensive! You drilling holes into them does not help our budget!"

I groaned in exasperation as she started knocking on the door. "Mother!" I cried, swinging it open. "The whole _point _of drilling a hole into my door was so you could turn the crank and try out my new invention." She scrunched her nose up and stepped inside my room, obviously holding little interest for my hobby. "Don't you see? It's so I know someone is at my door without them pounding on it and _distracting_ me from my work." I tried to get her to take the hint, but she never seemed to notice.

Her small green eyes glazed over my work. "I don't see why you would need that dear. You're up here wasting your time on silly inventions, and then you complain about your health. When was the last time you went outside, hm? A week ago? You're becoming a hermit, dearest."

My mother had a tendency to over exaggerate, but she wasn't on that last note. As I glanced around my room, I smirked as my eyes glossed over the walls filled with pointless creations and boxes stacked ceiling high with useless junk that could one day come in handy. I did feel a tad like a hermit, but I believed myself to be content. "I'm five and twenty mother," I finally said, bringing myself away from the subject of my crab similarities. "I can do as I please. Besides, my health is perfectly fine."

That was also a lie. Ironically, while saying that sentence I tried my best not to cough in the musty air of my bedroom. "Well, I can tell it's not," she snarled, noticing my wheezing tone of voice. She flapped her hand at me as though I was pathetic. "That's why I've gotten you a job."

My heart skipped a beat. "A job?" I cried suddenly as she started to dust my room. I chased after her like a dog. "Mother, I don't need any money!" Well, that, and I didn't like people terribly much.

She cut me off. "I don't care if you _need _it, _want _it, or _have _it—you're taking this job because you need to get out of this damn house!" Her arms rose above her head as she puffed tiredly and headed out of my room. Her poor nerves were raging yet I couldn't help it that I was independent. Me? A job? Highly unusual.

My legs took off running for her. "Mother, if you're going to give me a job, it would certainly be rational if you would at least tell me what it was." She paused for a moment, realizing her quandary. My mother wasn't the brightest of women.

"A maid," she replied bluntly. My heart began to ache. A _maid?_ Was she joshing? Had she _seen_ my bedroom? "You're a mess, child. I figured it would be a change if you saw how disgusting some other people could be. It'll give you a bit more self respect."

"How do you even know that they'll be pigs?" I grumbled. I was highly unsatisfied with her sensible response. Her words backfired my original thought process.

She laughed suddenly, having more knowledge to the answer than I. "Trust me my dear, he's chaotic. Though he is a rising star."

Her last point interested me, but I brushed it off. I was too distracted on that fact that I would be working under someone. Not that I considered myself a high class person, not even remotely, but just because I had always been more of a lone woman. And not exactly because I wanted it that way. I would have to take her word on it though. There was no arguing my way out of this one. Once my mother had her mind made up. That was that. There were no more excuses left for me to use. In her defense, it would probably be good for me. All I hoped was that the man I was working for wasn't…

Perverted. After all, I am a young woman. I don't particularly wish to be violated.

Old. I know that sounds a bit rude, but I get enough old folks at my house with my mother inviting their friends over, and the chance to talk with someone a tad closer to my age wouldn't hurt. And most importantly:

Rude. I didn't like people. That's why I was never around people. Why? Because people are rude, vile, racist, crude and foul. Well, at least the people in the lower side of London seemed to be so. All I hoped was that he was polite enough to give me a nod of his head as we passed in the hallway.

"My goodness, you think too much," my mom said suddenly as I thought over the list in my head in silence. She had probably been watching me stare off into space for a few minutes now. "He goes by Sherlock Holmes, no mister." My brows shot up in recognition. "Yes, the same Sherlock Holmes. The one in the papers about the Blackwood case."

"You got me a job as a maid... for a detective?" I asked. "Well, that shouldn't be terribly hard. I mean, he's probably never home, yes?"

The sentence was somehow amusing to my mother. "Heavens, no, he's in his house more than you. Not even his house; his _room._ His nanny, Mrs. Hudson was her name, was a very sweet woman, but she couldn't take any more of his nonsense." Her voice grew down into a whisper. "Apparently he shoots at the wall half the time, and the other time he tries to kill some dog."

Fantastic. My mother had given me a job where my boss was not old, rude, or creepy—but hostile. And how on Earth was I going to work for someone hostile, when I myself was beginning to become hostile? We could just sit around all day and be hostile together. Then I wouldn't get paid and my mother would have a fit. "I'm just cleaning, right?" I sighed after looking too much into the situation. "If I have to get to know him, I-"

My mother rolled her eyes and began walking down the stairs, tossing on her emerald coat and black gloves. "You and your prudence. Don't worry. You're a maid. You will clean, cook, wash, whatever it is Mister Holmes would like to have done, alright?" I nodded quietly, avoiding calling out her error of using 'mister'. "Now, go put on some nicer clothes. You'll be going in an hour." She pulled out a piece of paper from her pocket and flicked it in my direction. "Take this. It's the address. Do _not _be late, Renadale, I mean it." And without another word, she left.

I sighed heavily. Today was going to be a long day. I glanced up at the clock, surprised to see it was only noon. Not only would today be a long day, but perhaps the longest in a while. That really meant something too, because every day was a long day for me. My eyes skimmed over the paper my mother had given me. The address said; 221b Baker Street.

Without a care, I crumpled the paper into the waste basket, already having it memorized, and headed upstairs to get dressed. I shut my eyes with the heat of frustration spreading across my face. _This better be worth it. _


	2. Meetings and Matings

**Just a note... I know Holmes has grey eyes in the book, but based on RDJ, I'm going to make them brown. I hope this doesn't bother anyone too much! Thanks for the reviews! Hope you like the next chapter! :)**

**~Mistro**

~.~.~.~

Watson leaned back lazily in his chair, his eyes fixed on Holmes, who was blatantly poking at moths inside a cup. "Holmes," he sighed finally. "What on Earth are you doing?" The preoccupied detective took no notice of him, but continued to focus on his 'work'. Watson stood up, annoyed. "You call me over here so I can watch you abuse moths, is that it?"

"Actually no," Holmes said suddenly, smirking a bit, but still not looking towards his companion. "I need you to meet my new maid for me. See if she's worth having around." His large brown eyes skimmed the room quickly. "If she has any ideas of moving something an inch from its place... you know what to do."

Watson chuckled, shaking his head back and forth. He loved his friend, but his incoherent outlook on people could sometimes bewilder him. "Holmes, you're the detective here. Not me. Take one look at her and I'm sure you could figure everything you need to know about her out."

"Yes," he agreed, his eyes fixing back on the bugs. "But as you pointed out earlier... I'm quite busy, so if you could do the honors…"

Watson rolled his eyes, chuckling to himself. "I don't even see the point of having a maid..." he grumbled to himself as he headed towards the door. "...when you don't even want anything to be cleaned!" He left the detective's room with a loud bang of the closing door. As he stood outside, he couldn't help but roll his eyes and sigh. His friend was the worst at times he wasn't on a case. But, it was something he always ended up dealing with. Maybe the maid could be of service now that he was about to be married. His thoughts were distracted however, by the sound of knocking on the front door.

~.~.~.~

I stood outside, my arms and hands shaking from the bitter coldness of the winter. My eyes were skimming over the building. It was a decent sized apartment- a bit old, but not old enough to abandon. Behind me stood a tall, circular black gate with a lamp hanging down. Upon it was the adress: 221B. My eyes quickly snapped upwards towards a window. I briefly noticed that the walls were red and gold tapesty inside, but filled up with papers and photographs. I smiled to myself, knowing whose room that must have been. A detective's, surely.

"Hello?" Someone suddenly said from the opened door. The man was rather young, handsome, and slim. I looked at his nice suit, and realized he must have been the doctor my mother was telling me about earier. "You must be the maid, yes?"

"Renadale Adkins, Sir," I said, quickly curtsying. "Yes, I am the maid. You must be the doctor."

His dark blonde brows narrowed together in his forehead. "How can you tell?"

I smirked, not expecting him to question me. "My mother told me. She told me you were a doctor for Mist-" I stopped myself abruptly. "I mean Sherlock Holmes."

His small lips spread into a handsome smile. "Your mother told you well; that is my occupation." He opened the door wider and motioned for me to come inside. "I can tell you, on the other hand, were taught to not call him Mister Holmes." I nodded, giving a slight smile as I stepped into the warm house. "He doesn't mind terribly, in fact, I think you should call him that at first and then switch over later." He paused briefly in his words and his tracks. "That is... if he takes a liking to you."

Personally, I would prefer to call my boss 'Mister' rather than his full name as though we were friends. By doing that, I could sense awkward situations forming from the very start. "It's a lovely house," I said, trying my best to make small talk as I glanced at the room on the left. Maids and cooks were already running back and forth from room to room. One flew down the stairs, whispering to Watson unpleasantly.

"He brought out his gun again," she groaned before disappearing into the kitchen.

Watson placed a weary hand on his forehead followed by a long sigh. "Holmes has a few perks." Though he laughed afterwards, the stress wasn't hard to detect. "He grows on you though. I assure you." I could sense a bit of sarcasm in Watson's voice. Obviously the two were the closest of friends, but they obviously had their differences.

"When was the last time he left his room?" I asked a bit too straight forwardly as Watson led me up the stairs. Inside, I cursed myself for being so nosy, but my curiosity was at its peak as we came closer towards the door.

"A few weeks," Watson garbled, a bit irritably. "He'll come out to dinner or a show, then come back and lock himself up—like leaving was his chore or some sort of nonsense. He doesn't do well in public situations, but don't tell him I told you so."

As we both paused outside of a thick, wooden door, I watched as Watson slowly raised a finger. It was a signal for me to be quiet. Out of nowhere a large gun shot rang out, rattling the house. I jumped back in surprise, causing Watson to audibly snicker. "The only problem is telling where he's shooting," Watson said. "If we open the door and he's shooting to the wall next to us or even the door... Well, we're certainly in trouble."

I waited patiently with my ears now tuned. Another shot rang out. "He's shooting towards the window," I mumbled. "The sound is coming from that direction. You can tell, because it's not as loud as it would be if he was shooting towards us. The windows thin the wall out a bit, so the sound isn't as loud. You should stop him; he could eventually shoot through the wall. Then who knows where the bullet might end up?"

Watson seemed to be at a loss for words by my sudden statements. I felt my pale cheeks blushing and uncomfortably hid my eyes. I suppose it wasn't a maid's position to inform men of the correct answer. "You're right," He smiled, making me feel a bit more comfortable. His hand quickly opened the door and swung it open. "I should tell him. But no matter what I do…" He loudly made his way to the center of the room with his hands firmly placed on his hips. "He's still an ass." A man with tangled brown hair turned around, gun in hand and his brows raised at the surprise of his company.

I slowly walked in, standing next to Watson. My body was tense in the unfamiliar situation and I couldn't help but avoid looking at my new boss. "This is Miss Renadale Adkins," Watson introduced. "She will be your new maid."

My large green eyes were scanning the room like mad. There were books of all kinds; myths, cooking, doorknob styles. The walls were plastered with nails holding up photographs, newspapers and sketches. Magnifying glasses, desks, shelves, filled drawers, empty drawers—the room was a complete mess. To me, it was a masterpiece. There was no urge in me to clean it. I liked it just the way it was.

With a spin of his gun in hand, Sherlock Holmes tucked the weapon into his pocket. He took a step closer, his eyes glued to my face. He was obviously 'detecting' me, deducting any kind of negative ambiance I was giving off. The closeness of him made me feel horribly pathetic, as I wasn't used to men being near me in the slightest. "Watson," he mumbled, turning towards a glass case of moths. His large brown eyes watched one scramble against the glass. "That was an awfully short talk."

"She's_ fine_," Watson assured.

"She's youthful," Holmes said, turning back to us. They were speaking about me as though I wasn't even there which added more nerves on top of the ones I already developed. "In fact, she doesn't know anything about cleaning herself. Her parents probably made her take this job to get her out of her very own house. Her boots are perfectly clean, so I presume it is a safe assumption."

My heart paused for a moment. He could tell that much just by looking at my clothes? I was about to explain myself when the doctor jumped in. "How do you know she didn't just polish her shoes, Holmes? It's always a little game with you."

"That's where you're wrong Watson. Those shoes are made of nappa leather. That kind of leather is chrome-tanned, and extremely soft and supple. Therefore is she were going to be wearing those shoes, the spot between her toes and her upper foot would be wrinkled, which they aren't, so I repeat myself," he stopped for a moment to catch his breath. "You are mistaken."

Watson and I exchanged a quick glance. I lifted up my shoe to inspect it more closely. It was certainly nappa leather. Slowly, I set my foot down in awe. "Very good, sir," I sighed, attempting a smile. He was flustering me to no end. "You have a natural talent." Complimenting wasn't exactly my strong suit.

"You're also not good with flattery. Your lips are perfectly smooth," he noted. Self-consciously, I raised my fingers to my lips. "The cold winter air would chap them in a time like this, so you must not talk very much either." He raised a brow, before facing the wall again, and firing another shot. "Quite the hermit."

"Haven't you pestered her quite enough, Holmes?" He was embarrassed by his friend. I on the other hand, was embarassed by myself. Though his attitude was straight-forward and a bit nippy, his lifestyle was more interesting than I had expected. When I thought of detective, I couldn't help but think of the Scotland Yard. He was certainly no Inspector Lestrade.

"What... are you working on?" I asked curiously, walking over to him. He stood, crouched over a glass case of moths. His interest in his gun had quickly faded and I wondered if his bipolar hold of interests would be a common thing. I noticed Watson's eyes grow a bit wide, worried about my stepping out of place. Or, perhaps it was because he didn't want to listen to his friend go off about tiny insects.

"I've placed an elder generation with a young one, to see if the mating pattern changes." His voice was soft, his eyes concentrated on a pair of moths, whose wings seemed to be touching.

"Why would you want to know such things?" My curiosity was genuine, but I quickly learned that Sherlock Holmes was not to be questioned. He snapped his head towards me in utter disbelief.

"… Well why wouldn't I?"

I made no answer and decided it would be best to not start a dispute. If I went home without a job, my mother would be absolutely furious. There was a long pause as we all stared at the flying bugs. "They're afraid of us," I said softly, noticing how quickly the moths flew around in their prison. "Moths fly towards light so that they can find a spot to camouflage themselves. By placing them in this glass cage near the sunlight they have nowhere to go. Their matting pattern is being interrupted, because they're focusing on trying to find a place to hide."

Without thinking I picked up the glass case and brought it over to a corner in the room. I took a candle and lit it, placing it a few inches away from the glass. The moths started to calm down suddenly as a few landed upon one another. I grinned, satisfied with my work.

"You touched my vial," Sherlock Holmes suddenly said from the other side of the room. I turned around, to see him standing with an undetectable expression.

"Yes," I said hesitantly.

"You moved my case."

"I'm sorry."

"Your finger prints are now glued to that case until further notice."

"That is... true."

Watson and Holmes exchanged glances. "She did fix your problem," Watson shrugged.

Holmes looked back over to me. "Moth expertise?"

I shook my head. "My father was a scientist with a particular fascination in insects. H e taught me a thing or two." The two men just stared at me. I couldn't have guessed what they were thinking for all the pence in England. Amidst the awkward silence, I attempted to continue the conversation. "...I used to use them in my invention sometimes. They never cooperated."

"An inventor?" Watson asked curiously. "What do you invent?"

I didn't want to embarrass myself further by telling him all of my pointless inventions. How wonderful would their reaction be if I told them I made a machine that cleaned the inside of a pipe? "Nothing highly spectacular," I mumbled.

"Leave me, Watson!" Sherlock suddenly said with a dramatic flick of his wrist. Watson motioned for me to join him, though my name was not called. Holmes's visiting hours were up and he wanted us to go. Quietly we left the room together. A few moments later, three fast gun shots in a row were fired.

Watson looked at me with wide eyes. My heart sunk lowly. I embarrassed myself, I called Sherlock Holmes out on his errors, and I spoke indirectly. There was no way I was staying there. My face must have been unable to hide the fear of my reassignment. However, my ears either tricked me, or Watson had spoken what I had least expected to hear.

"Miss Adkins, It looks like you've got yourself a job."


	3. Blushing Maids and Blushing Beards

**Um… talk about WOW you guys! I entered my first chapter, got two reviews and ten hours later I have 16! You guys are seriously the best. Keep the reviews, suggestions, comments, complaints, admirations, songs, dances, poems, novels, anything you want to put in the review box coming, because I write for you! And if you don't motivate me, I can't write! (Scary…) I also love listening to the Sherlock Holmes soundtrack while I write my chapters. If you haven't bought it yet, I highly suggest doing so. Excellent score! Hans Zimmer is a genius though, so… [: Thanks for everything you guys! Here's the new chapter!**

**~Mistro **

**~.~.~.~.~**

Two hours had gone by. Watson had left some time ago, leaving me and Holmes by ourselves. Then again, he kicked me out of his room, so I was actually spending some quality time with the other maids. More so, they talked while I quietly nodded and listened. "He says he wants lunch," one of them said to another as they rushed past me. "Eggs this time."

My eyebrows shot up in amusement. _Eggs for lunch, how lovely._ "_You_ will deliver them to him," a woman said towards me. Finally, I was going to do something besides _sitting. _I wasn't exaggerating either; I had literally been sitting there for two hours. "They'll be ready in a moment." She said before rushing off again.

It suddenly became clear to me that there were at least five maids in this house. Which wasn't unusually odd, as maids were nice to have around, especially if you're busy and there were many people in the house, yes? Only, there was _one _person in the house- a certain Sherlock Holmes, and he didn't do _anything _it seemed when we wasn't on a case. Well, besides shoot things.

"Here, take it up quickly, it's hot." The cook tossed the plate onto my lap. I winced as the heat sunk through my clothes and quickly scooped it into my hands. "Quickly!" She urged, shoving me up the stairs.

The warm smell of scrambled eggs suddenly hit my nose. I could almost taste the butter on the toast next to it melt onto my tongue. I was a lot hungrier than I thought… I hadn't eaten much lately with the work on my 'genius' door invention. The food was for Mr. Holmes however, so I had to ignore my craving. "Mr. Holmes!" I shouted over clattering from inside the room. No response. I pounded my fist on the door. "Mister-"

"Yes?" I suddenly heard someone say as the door flung open. The detective's large brown eyes stared at me as one of his brows lifted in confusion. Even though I was holding his food in my hands he still looked at me as though he couldn't comprehend why on Earth I was there.

"I… brought you some breakfast." My voice shook in fear of something going wrong. But, what could possibly go wrong with a food delivery? Something about the tall man made me nervous. "I mean lunch. I'm sorry. I just find it rather odd to be eating eggs at such a time in the day." Once again, I couldn't seem to shut my mouth. He made me far more fidgety than anyone ever had. Perhaps it was the constant realization that if he wanted to discover my secrets, he probably could.

"You find a lot of things odd about me, I can tell." He smirked and scooped the silver tray from my hands into his own. "It's rather amiable, actually. I've never had a woman seem terribly interested in my work." A dark look suddenly glazed over his face. "Well, there was one." He paused for a moment, seeming to go off into a daze. "…She was more interested in manipulation, however."

My eyes shifted down to my feet. I was never good on the topic of love or admiration. I wasn't sure who this woman was or if Holmes even loved her, but regardless. It wasn't my place to ask. "I see," I said taking a delicate step towards the stairs. "Well, enjoy your lunch, Mister Holmes."

He quickly raised his finger, wagging it in the air. "No, no, come back." He shoved a mouthful of eggs in his mouth before disappearing back inside his room. I knew I should have probably gone inside, but he just disappeared so quickly that I couldn't seem to gather myself. And why did he want me to go inside? My feet slowly crept back down the stairs, hoping he wouldn't hear me. "I said come back!" He mumbled through a mouthful of eggs as he stuck his head out the door.

I nodded quickly, and rushed back up the stairs into his room. The more time I spent with him, the more foolish I seemed to paint myself as onto his mural of bad first impressions. He kicked a few things out of the way that were lying on his floor before kicking out a chair from under his desk. "Sit," he ordered. He sat on a faded maroon sofa across the room with his plate of eggs still in hand.

I shuffled into the room and shut the door behind me. His fork was loudly scrapping against his plate, his eyes glued to a faded ivory fireplace in front of him. I watced him carefully as I sat myself upon the chair. "So, do you like eggs?" He asked out of the blue.

_He really is outlandish. _"I can't say I do," I confessed. He quickly looked over at me with a dismayed look on his face. Looks like I had disappointed my boss because I didn't like eggs… a wonderful start. "I'm afraid I don't like the texture of them. The way they feel in my mouth bothers me."

"You know, every part of the egg is edible," he said, shrugging. "I didn't know why more people don't eat the shells. Then I tried it, and realized why." I laughed genuinely from across the room. He looked over at me with a smile, before switching to his toast.

I knew it was my turn to say something. Thankfully however, Holmes set his plate down before I had the chance to say mess things up. "Those eggs were quite excellent. When I tell you what to do next, I want you first to go and deliver the cook the good news. Yes?" I nodded obediently. "On the corner outside there is a man selling papers. I want you to go and get me one," he said, suddenly tossing a coin in my direction. I quickly caught it, looking it over. "The man should be short with a red beard. If he's not don't buy a paper. It he is then ask him if he has any more tickets to the show."

"The show?" I asked peculiarly.

Holmes nodded; his face blank. One thing I was beginning to notice about my boss was that he didn't smile much. It wasn't that he was unhappy, he just seemed solicitous. "Magic," he said. "Spells. Uncanny. You don't have to tell him what ticket. He'll know." His eyes looked me over quickly. "In fact, get two."

My feet rose from the chair as I buried the coin in my pocket. "Yes, sir, I'll be right back with your papers." Without a farewell from me, or Mister Holmes, I quickly walked back down the stairs with a heavy sigh. As I left the house, I couldn't help but think about how a magic show actually sounded rather fun at the moment. Perhaps I would come back later and purchase one for myself.

I spotted the man selling newspapers a few paces down the road. I noted his bright red beard and stout appearance and quickly walked over to him. "Hello sir," I said, handing him the coin. He looked up at me with a large smile. "Mister Holmes has asked me to buy a paper for him as well as two tickets. He said you would know which he was speaking of."

The man raised a wise finger and swiftly handed me a newspaper. "A newspaper for the lovely lady," he flirted. I smiled happily, somehow warmed by the compliment. Even though he wasn't the most charming of men, I wasn't complimented by men much in general. On that note, I never went out. There was absolutely not opportunity for it to happen. "And tickets for my best costumer. Give him a warm hello from Henry, will you?"

I nodded and inclined my head in respect for the kind man. "I will."

His kind words couldn't seem to leave from my mind. I was being foolish, for letting them get to my head, but it made me realize something. When I was hiding away from all of those people I was hiding away from company. Love had been in my life before, but my isolation drove him away. I was messing everything up. Ladies my age would be expected to have their fourth child by now. I however, hadn't even had a kiss. As I headed back towards my new office, I shoved the thoughts from my mind. At the moment, I was at my job; and I needed to focus on that and only that. I would worry about my own problems later. I had pushed them aside for many years. Another couple of hours couldn't hurt.

I turned my key into the lock and stepped back inside the warm house. The cook was rushing past me again, but I quickly stepped in her way. "Mister Holmes would like me to tell you that your eggs were delicious." I delivered the news.

"Well, tell him thank you kindly!" She chuckled, her cheeks turning red before she ran back into the kitchen. I smirked to myself. Looks like Holmes had a special effect on the maids in his house. They probably weren't used to him giving high regards for their work. They all knew that Holmes was a tad unconventional.

My old boots carried me up the stairs quickly and inside his room. "I have your papers!" I said after walking back in. I was too busy being focused on the headline to notice right away when I didn't get a response. "Mister Holmes?" I asked as I dropped the paper from my line of vision.

I gasped aloud as the paper fell from my hands which then covered my mouth. He was on the ground with seven large textbooks stacked onto his chest. "Mr. Holmes!" I cried, rushing over to him and kicking the books off of him. My hands reached down and grabbed his own, hauling him upwards as he coughed and sputtered for air. "Are you alright, Sir?"

His hands tugged at his collar as he gasped for air. "I wanted to see..." He stopped momentarily to pause and sit himself upwards. "I wanted to see how long one could withstand pressure on their chest before their memory was distorted," he explained, while trying to stand up. Wobbling like mad, I wrapped his arm around my shoulder and tried to balance his muscular body. "There was a suicide of a woman a week ago who put a large rock on her chest at the middle of the countryside river and I can't seem to figure out why she died."

"She drowned, Mister Holmes." I guessed as I lead him over to the couch. "The water probably leaked into her lungs."

"Palpable," he mumbled. "Then tell me this: why did she need to set a rock upon her chest? Apparently the girl couldn't swim. If I didn't know any better myself, the girl was as curious as me to find out how long it could take before a person's chest collapsed under strain, but she just decided to exertion it with water, _or_, she wanted a sorrowful amount of attention." His eyes shot up at me. I winced suddenly; startled by their richness. "What say you, Miss Adkins?"

"I…" I was unsure of what exactly to say. "I… got your papers and ticket for you, Mister Holmes."

He smiled, amused with my ignorance. "Noted." He slowly rose himself up from the couch and made his way over to the desk. On his way there, he scooped up the papers I had dropped and set them down firmly on the table. "I wouldn't be too flattered by Henry's words, you know," he said, breaking the silence between us.

My heart skipped a beat. How did he knew what Henry said to me? "What?"

Holmes quickly spun his chair around to face me. A pen was twirling in his fingers and I knew that he was going to go into another long explanation. "The maid before my last was young, _unlike _my last and even younger than you." He blinked, stopping for a moment. "Do not take that personally. I don't find you young." I twitched a bit, feeling a bit self conscious. "…I didn't quite mean for that comment to be personal either," he corrected himself. "You're not old. I wasn't putting it that way. You're just not juvenile as some might-"

I smiled to show him that it was alright. "Do go on with your story, Mr. Holmes."

"Right," he continued without another pause. "So, every day I made her go and get me a paper. One day, after about a month or two, she didn't return. I went out to go and see what had happened to her only to realize that she had run away with the newsboy." He smirked to himself. "It made much more sense as to why she took so long getting the paper." My cheeks flushed red as I tried to stifle my laughter. "Regardless, I knew Henry before he was a newspaper seller. He always teased the women he met."

"Teased?" I questioned, a bit offended now. "So when he called me lovely it was untrue?" I was only playing a joke on him, but Holmes seemed to take the question acutely.

He shook his head wildly. "That was a false assumption," he said. "In fact, in any man's eye, your looks and outline would probably be ideal to his mind set of a handsome woman." His words were rather rushed, and I was about to thank him (although I wasn't quite sure what he said) but he continued on with his story. "On the previous subject, Henry is far too unattractive to grab a woman's attention, despite his compliments. Earlier when I told you don't buy from anyone else, that's why he's the only man I trust."

"So you're saying, you're afraid that I'll run off with a newsboy?"

He nodded, turning back to his desk. "Precisely. Don't say you wouldn't." He cocked his head to the side, circling some things on the paper. "You never know just _who_ might intrigue you." His words came out slowly. He stopped writing for a second and glanced back at me. We looked at one another for a brief moment before his eyes darted towards the clock. "You can be finished."

My pulse was suddenly heavier than before. I could have blamed it on the two of us staring at one another, but that was just impractical. "Are you sure there's nothing else you'd like before I leave Mister Holmes?" I asked.

His body suddenly froze as his eyes skimmed over an article in the paper. "Yes," he mumbled. "Yes, something just came up. Go find Watson immediately. He should be at dinner with his fiancée down the street. Tell him to come here instantly, or I will come to him."

The task thrown upon me took me off guard. "How do you know he will come?"

Sherlock cracked a quick smile. "Trust me. He doesn't like it when I try to fine-dine." He turned and looked back at me intensely. "Bring him here. Then you may be excused."

Without another thought in my mind, I took off running towards the restaurant. My first task. Mother would be so proud.


	4. Cesspool Crimes

**I'm starting to get in a habit of updating every day… And look! It's 11:40- I was 20 minutes before I was about to ruin my streak. But, voila! I have not. THANKS AGAIN so much for the reviews—I want to thank a few people in particular though, one being RenaADale Holmes who ALSO has a very wonderful Sherlock Holmes story on her page, that you should all quickly check out, and also because her username inspired the name for my OC character. XD So, thanks for that, haha! Also, to Kazz the 13****th****, who gave me a nice meaty review and recommended some good books for me to read! (Which I desperately need, and will rush to a book store quickly to hunt them down. Oh, and bring Mr. Birdie along any time you wish xD) and to TwinkleToesYEAH because I don't think I've ever seen such a lovely display of "MORE"s in my entire life!**

**But of course, I love all of you, and without you, I couldn't be doing this, so PLEEEEEEEEEASE review and keep reading the story! Oh! And go see Sherlock Holmes again before it leaves theaters. Because, you know, it's just that good. ^_^ **

**And also, thanks for all the fantastic reviews about Renadale! I'm glad you all enjoy her! She loves you all too! xD **

**-mistro**

**~.~.~.~**

Holmes was very nondescript about the restaurant, but I knew better. There was only one place at the end of Baker Street that any man impressing his fiancée would dine. Without question it would be Agatha's, so I rushed there as fast as my weak legs could take me. As I approached the building, I slammed my palms against the windows, my eyes searching around the room for Watson. I found him in a back corner with a lovely red head by his side. "There you are," I mumbled, hurrying inside the restaurant. To my misfortune and surprise, I was halted by a large, gloved hand.

"I'm sorry." A pointed-nose man in a tux stopped me. "Do you have reservations?"

"I'm not here to eat," I said quickly, watching Watson from the entrance. "I'm here to talk to my friend." The man shook his head in disapproval, his hand still blocking me from entering.

"Please," I urged. "It will only be a minute."

"Reservations _only_," he snarled. "If you're not going to make one, then I suggest you leave the premises before I have to remove you from it myself." I glanced over his body and noticed how thin it was. I wondered if I could actually win in a fight with him, but I didn't want to make a scene. I backed away hesitantly. "Thank you for stopping by!" He laughed obnoxiously before spinning on his perfectly shined shoes and walking away.

I puffed my breath angrily from the doorway. Couples in colorful dresses brushed past me, greedy sneers upon their faces. How was I going to get Watson now? I couldn't _not _get him- if I disobeyed Holmes, I would be disobeying my boss. Would I lose my job on the first day?

Stupidly, I could only think of one way of grabbing his attention. Looking around to make sure no one terribly important was near me, I cleared my throat, getting ready to shout. Inside, I cursed myself for what I was about to do. I hated getting noticed. But the thought of getting fired scared me even more. _One…. Two… _"_Watson!_" I cried out, cupping my hands around my mouth.

Everyone in the restaurant stopped what they were doing and looked up at me. Their forks were in mid air and their mouths open. The man from earlier rushed out from the kitchen, his face red with fury. "I told you- no visitors! _Scat_!" He grabbed a napkin, whipping it in my direction. I backed up hesitantly as he came closer, feeling somewhat like a stray animal being shoved away.

"Stop that," Watson grumbled as he pushed the man aside. "She's with me." The man coughed in embarrassment and left, but not before he shot me another glare. "What's wrong? Why have you come here?" He asked in a hushed tone as he pulled me outside.

"It's Holmes," I whispered back. "I don't mean to be a bother, but he said your being there is urgent."

Watson looked deeply at me for moment. He was peeved, clearly. "What does he want?" I shrugged. Honestly, I had as much of an idea as Watson had. "Why can't he ever get it through his thick skull that when I'm busy, it _means _I'm busy!"

His anger was a bit startling, but I couldn't blame him. The red head was very lovely, and I could tell he wanted to be with her and not his not-completely-there partner. "Relax," I said smoothly. "He's your friend. I'm sure he wouldn't mean to bother you unless it was terribly important." Then again, Watson called him an ass earlier, so I wouldn't have been surprised if there was no importance at all.

I heard footsteps quickly approaching us. I turned my head to see the charming woman walking over to us. She glanced at me curiously, edging a bit closer to Watson. "Who are you?" She questioned. Her grip on Watson grew.

"It's alright Mary," Watson assured. "She's a friend of mine and Holmes. A new maid. Apparently he needs me to return home instantly." Mary shot him a disapproving look. "I won't go, don't worry."

My eyes grew wide. "No, you must go!" I pressed, grabbing his upper arm. Mary scoffed and removed my hand from him. "He said it was urgent and that if you didn't go over there, he would be coming here!" Watson and Mary's faces both grew pale. "I'm presuming that's not a good thing then," I mumbled softly. "Look, I think it has to do with something in the papers. Before he made me come and find you he was scanning them."

Watson groaned, his hand weakly meeting his forehead. "It's just this once," Mary sighed after a long pause. "Well, not really. He's always interrupting our dinners like this," Mary informed me. "It'd be better off if we left, than to have him come here. Who can recall the last time he bathed?" Mary chuckled. I raised a brow in amusement, somehow not surprised. "Go ahead John," she said softly. "I'll be here when you get back."

I watched as Watson hesitantly looked at Mary. She smiled, and nodded once more, urging us to go. "I'll be back soon," he said to her. "After all, it's probably just another foolish game."

Something stirred back into my memory. When Holmes was reading the paper, his scribbling and circling was quick, almost urgent. His eyes had been darting over the page like it was his air and when he told me to go and get Watson it was so dire that I felt like he would fall over dead if I didn't do it. "Actually," I said slowly, grabbing the two's attention. "He sounded rather desperate. It may be normal to you, but for me, it was sort of alarming. Whatever he read was obviously something he had a great interest in."

Watson's brows crinkled. "I suppose we mustn't wait then," he said, taking me by the arm and gently leading me away from restaurant. "Just don't be terribly surprised when we get there and there's no show."

~.~.~.~.~

Watson, Holmes and I stood above the desk with our eyes on the paper. Candles were placed everywhere in the dark room, adding to the mysterious feeling I had inside of me. "This is it?" Watson spoke, obviously unpleased. His tired eyes once more scanned over the head line. "This is your fantastic news?"

"Not fantastic Watson," Holmes jumped on his words effortlessly. "In fact, it's rather reprehensible. Tell me, Watson, have you ever seen such a case?" Before the doctor could answer, Holmes continued. "No, I bet you haven't. It is as though the ostentatious Empire has once more told me to clean up and figure things out. Wouldn't you agree?"

"The ostentatious Empire?" Watson laughed, his hands crossing over his chest. He started sternly at his friend. "London is a cesspool, Holmes. Don't deny that all of those people of the Empire; the ones who lounge and idle are irresistibly drained of their lives. All people do anymore is sit around and murder for boredom."

I had to agree with the doctor on that note. London was becoming a cesspool. Everyone was somehow covered in dirt or ash, and if you weren't, you had a lot of money. As for the people murdering for boredom, well that scared me somwhat. Despite my agreement with Watson, I couldn't seem to take my eyes off the paper. "It's actually intriguing," I said softly, grabbing both the men's attention.

"See?" Holmes said as he stuck his violin bow in my face. I stared down at it, baffled. "If the lady says so, you mustn't disagree."

"Would you like me to read it in a clear voice for you so you can fully understand the foolishness you're displaying?" Watson cleared his throat, picked up the paper and began to read. "London, England. Seven lip marks were found on the doorway of a recently murdered woman's home, and then upon the woman herself when she was killed ten days later." Watson set the paper down. "Someone was in love with her. She probably cheated on him. I'm not sure the exact details of the situation, but this is no mystery, Holmes. It's just another foolish murder. There's nothing here to solve. There are no connections."

"As my partner, you really ought to get better at this."

Watson rolled his eyes. "I'm a doctor Holmes, not your play date." I grinned, somehow amused with their bickering. They were almost like children. "If you're so certain that I should get better at your line of work, point out to me what it is that I'm missing."

Like a whip, Holmes's violin bow slammed down upon the paper, circling the photograph of a kiss mark on the doorway. "This photo was taken after the murder, my dear Watson." Watson slowly narrowed his eyes towards him. "Now do you see?"

Watson growled, tossing his hands in the air. "No, Holmes! Do you want to know why? It's because you're disturbed... and half the things you say or do have no meaning. I've already solved his case. Case closed. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have dinner to return to." Watson was starting to put on his jacket when it suddenly stuck me.

"Your caviar can wait, doctor," I said under my breath, picking up the paper quickly. Watson stopped what he was doing and looked at me in bewilderment. "Mr. Holmes is right." Holmes smirked proudly, his fingers plucking quick notes on his violin. Watson growled before furiously snatching the instrument from him. "The photograph was taken _after_ she was murdered. If that's true, then why didn't she report the mark to the police when it first appeared? Or at least, why didn't she wash it off?"

"Perhaps she found it a compliment."

"She was an obsessive and paranoid woman." Holmes pointed out another section in the article. "Quite the interesting young girl. I wouldn't be surprised if she would have reported the strange marking to the police. On another note, why would she find it a compliment?"

"A man kissing her door could show a sign of admiration," Watson sighed.

Holmes frowned sorrowfully as they continued to argue. "I'm not sure what your tastes are, Watson, but I'm not one for wearing lip stick and kissing aged doorways." Watson's cheeks turned red as he puffed angrily. "I could be wrong about you," Holmes teased. "Perhaps brothers don't know one another as well as they thought."

"I don't wear lipstick, Holmes," Watson scoffed.

I still found myself glued to the paper, something nervous rising in my stomach. "It couldn't have been a man, or a woman, for that matter," I said in disbelief. The two men's heads snapped in my direction. I finally realized why the article was so mystifying to me. "I knew her," I said with a sigh of hesitation. "She lived a few doors down from me. She was very quiet. She rarely came outside. There was never anyone special in her life, even though she was as beautiful as anyone could imagine." Holmes stepped closer to me, interested in what I was saying. "I have no idea why anyone would have done this to her."

I didn't know her personally, but just the thought of someone unfairly dying was enough to make me sick to my stomach. Holmes could sense my tension. It was clear in my large eyes. He took the paper away from me and folded it up on the desk. "We all have our time. Some sooner than others."

"Kisses on the doorway of the murdered," I said softly. "It's actually rather interesting once you say it out loud. Not pleasant, but interesting." I glanced over at Holmes, who was now smiling to himself. I realized I had spoken more that day than any other in a long time. "… You want to solve it don't you?"

"Fantastic!" Watson laughed irritably. "Another case." He shook his head towards his friend, whose eyes were sparkling. There was a new sense of excitement in them. I knew he was already thinking up questions in his head. "How exactly are you planning to solve this one, Holmes? Take a sample of the lipstick and compare it to every person's mouth in London?"

"Certainly not. You know my methods, Watson."

I couldn't stop thinking about how unfair this was. That woman didn't deserve to die. In my opinion no one but the deceitful did. I just wanted to get away from all the talking to think about it some more, so I decided I should leave without Holmes' consent. When I reached for my coat, I heard someone call to me from the desk. "Sometimes people are not at all like we imagine them." Holmes muttered. "She could have been a terrible person, or a very good one. That's what we're going to figure out." I nodded, trusting him. "In fact," he said, glancing over at Watson. "We might know people so little... that your closet friend might actually enjoy female personas."

I laughed suddenly, a happier feeling rising to my stomach. "I do _not _wear lipstick!" Watson shouted again, grabbing his cane and this time leaving with a loud slam of the door. Holmes and I exchanged a smile. On the plus side, he certainly had a way of making me feel better.

"Are you frightened of walking home alone?" He said suddenly, his brows shooting up.

That was another worry. I lived a few houses down from her. If I wasn't so much of a wimp as I actually was, I'd be okay with walking home in the dark. However, I _was _afraid. "It would certainly be a bit frightening to walk home and find seven kisses waiting for me." I confessed. Holmes went to reach for his coat, but I stopped him quickly. "I'll be alright though." His eyes narrowed. He didn't believe me, but I didn't want him to have to go out of his way. "Honestly," I laughed, taking his coat from him and setting it back down.

There was a bit of a pause. He blinked a couple of times, his eyes never ungluing themselves from my face. My heart started pounding a bit and I self consciously reached to it, not knowing why it was doing such a thing. The light from the candles was illuminating his dark face, and it was then when I understood why the nurses found him so charming. He really was quite handsome, despite his lack of hygiene. _Stop that! _I cursed to myself and looked towards my feet.

After what seemed like a lifetime, he nodded quickly, sitting down on a chair, and blowing out a nearly finished candle. "So be it," he said quickly. "Come here earlier tomorrow though. Ten. Don't bother putting on an apron either."

I blinked in confusion. "Why?"

He looked up at me with another twinkle in his eye. "We're going to see a magic show."


	5. Holmes's Women

**I had the WORST time writing this chapter. I must warn you ahead of time; it's terribly dull. Not much happens. I sat here, not even lying, for three hours writing and deleting and writing and deleting, trying to make this decent. I hope it comes out alright. XD I suppose I just miss Watson. **

**RenaADale Holmes- I don't know what happened! Apparently something with all the dashes and periods messed something up, but there, I altered things a bit! xD**

**Kazzthe 13****th-**** I feel like a fool. But hey, you could always get books ABOUT them, eh? Haha, but, yes, I shall check out their murders. They'll probably inspire me… if I decide to do a sequel. Haha, but let's just get through this story first! O.O And now I'm a bit frightened of Mr. Birdie you can keep him where he is. **

**sakura1234. I love you too. ^_^ **

**Also, thanks for **_**all**_** the reviews! You're all just so mighty fantastic! Keep reading and keep reviewing! **

**~mistro**

**~.~.~.~**

As I walked back home, people still bustling all over the streets, I couldn't help but feel afraid. It was a dark night in a busy city… and no one would notice if I was grabbed and pulled into an alley way and murdered.

Alright, so maybe I was overreacting a tad much. Who wouldn't though? A woman, one I just happened to know out of all the people in London, lived a few houses down from me. The next thing I know... she's murdered. Who's to say that it won't happen again? Who's to say I won't be next?

The very idea made my pace quicken. The more I continued to think about it, the more nervous I became. At the moment all I wanted was to just get home so I could crawl underneath my covers and sleep. No working on inventions, no reading, no _nothing_- just sleep. That sounded suitable enough.

I stopped on the corner before turning onto my road. A streetlight was flickering towards the end of the street, the griminess of London erupting from old facades. No one but a couple walked by in the bitter cold. This sort of scene was normal in the day, but I found it much more haunting in the darkness of the night.

I inched around the corner, pressing my hands to the wall of a building. I could see my door from my view as well; and thank my lucky stars... there were no lip marks on it.

I felt my chest release the air I had been holding. _You're just being impractical Renadale, _I thought, laughing aloud. In fact, it was true. There was no one there, and just because someone was murdered last night didn't mean something would happen to me. I casually crossed the street until came upon my door. My eyes tried with urgency not to turn and look at the house a few doors down. _Don't do it, Renadale. You'll only scare yourself more._

You know how no matter what you say to try and stop yourself from doing something, you'll still do it anyways? Well, despite my effort, my eyes shot up from my doorknob to find a doorway painted with seven fading kisses. My heart began to pound as I fiddled with the key in the lock. The whole time I imagined footsteps coming closer to me, waiting to reach out and grab me… Once in, I threw the door behind me, slamming it with a bang.

"Heavens!" I heard my mother cry from the kitchen. She came rushing out, her hair a wild mes and water on her dress. "I was just washing the dishes, and in you come, slamming the door all over the place!" I leaned back against the wall, shutting my eyes. Right now all I had to focus on was catching my breath. "What's happened to you? You look like you've seen a ghost."

I shook my head, still trying to calm myself. "It's nothing," I panted, slipping out of my coat. Now that I was finally inside I just had to remind myself to relax. Everything was alright. No part of me was in any way violated or broken. "I just don't like the dark, that's all."

My mother placed her hands on her hips with her eyes sharp. She knew me better than that. "The dark's never bothered you before Renadale," she said sternly. "You need to go upstairs, wash off, and head on into bed." I couldn't have agreed more. As I headed off towards the stairs, I felt her pull me back. "But before you _do_," she said carefully. "You have to tell me how your day went!"

Groaning in uneasiness I told myself that I should have seen that one coming. To get out of the situation quickly I tossed out whatever came to mind. "It was splendid. Holmes is quite the character." I quickly broke free from her grasp. "I'm terribly tired. Do you mind if we talk about this in the morning?"

She nodded. Her scrunched face displayed that she still knew something was bothering me. I wasn't terribly good at hiding my fear from her. I wasn't a terribly good liar either. Or maybe I was, but my mother could see through anything. If I was having a bad day she could tell by my enterance. 'You're my daughter!' She used to say to me. 'Mothers can tell those things.'

"Alright, good." She shooed me upstairs. "Get some sleep, though! You don't want to disappoint Mr. Holmes!"

As I headed up the stairs, I thought about what she said. _With another interesting case presenting itself, I doubt he'd be disappointed with anything. _

~.~.~.~.~.~

The next morning I was glad to awake in my own bedroom, the sun shining through my window. Never had I been so relieved to see the sun in my entire life. I stretched in bed, lying there for a minute or two. I knew it was almost ten so I hauled myself upwards, tossed on an old dress and pinned back my loose curls. After all, I was going out in public today. I could afford to try and look decent.

My shoeless feet puttered down the creaky stairs. My mother stood in the kitchen with my breakfast already on the table. She spun around, gasping at my attire. "Why on Earth are you wearing that to work?" She paused a moment, a sly smile growing on her face. As if I had done something naughty, she wagged her finger at me.

"What?" I asked as I sat down.

"Oh nothing," She replied, humming and pouring me a glass of milk. I eyed her curiously as I bit into my biscut.

"You're up to something, mother." She scoffed playfully and continued to hum. She was teasing me, playing some sort of little game that I couldn't win because I simply didn't understand what was happening. "Well, fine," I said shrugging. "Don't tell me what you're talking about. It won't bother me a bit."

She laughed suddenly, handing me my glass of milk, which I snatched away from her. "Renadale, it is completely alright for you to try and look nice for a man." My eyes grew wide as I began to choke. What was she talking about? I was in the most plain clothes I owned. I didn't even bother with blush! "Now, even though he is your boss, that shouldn't stop you from-"

"Mother, please!" I cried desperately, silencing her. She looked at me with confusion. "I'm not dressed agreeably to impress him! In fact, I'm not agreeable at all with what I'm wearing... We're going to a show today, and he instructed me _not_ to wear my uniform." I shook my head, tiredly. "Your lesson to learn is to not make so many assumptions."

She sighed, rubbing her forehead. "Well, how do you expect me to know? There's a glow in your cheeks and your hair isn't flying all over the place. You come down here, looking prettier than you have in years-"

"Thank you, mother."

"And what else should I expect?" She continued, not detecting my sarcasm.

"Nothing," I said, standing up and handing her the plates. "You shouldn't expect anything. If a man were in my life I would tell you." She rolled her eyes, knowing that situation was probably bound to never happen. We both figured, though it hurt to think so. I would never admit that, however. "Alright, if a man were in my life, I would probably be dead, yes?"

"Always so negative," she whispered under her breath. Despite all of her wishes for me, some which I could never fulfill, I still loved her as much as I could. I planted a kiss on her cheek. "Hurry up," she ordered as I headed towards the door. "You'll be late for your show!"

~.~.~.~.~

I stood in Holmes' room, my coat on, ready to go. Only, I was waiting for Holmes. It was now 10:30 and he refused to leave without his pipe. "I don't expect you've seen it?" He asked me. I shook my head, slightly annoyed. It was about the thirteenth time he had asked me that. "I suppose we could just go without it," he grumbled after what seemed like ages. I let a sigh go in relief, as he began to slip on his coat. His face lit up as he slipped his hand in his pocket.

"What is it?" I asked curiously. Smiling wildly, he tossed his hand out from his pocket, revealing a chewed wooden pipe. I frowned, about ready to take the pipe and toss it out the window for good riddance. "Aren't we late by now?"

"Late?" Holmes' said, eyeing me curiously.

"Yes, late," I said, pointing towards the clock. "It's 10:30, you said it started at 10. "Not that I mind sir. We're just running late on _your_ schedule. Take all the time you need." I paused a moment, thinking things over. "Sir."

He smirked, pulling open the door and hopping his way down the stairs. "We're not late," Holmes said, catching me off-guard. "In fact." He glanced down at his pocketwatch. "Our performance doesn't begin until strictly noon." I stopped walking as his feet continued their way down the street. He paused upon realization that I was not following. "Change of heart?"

Slowly, I walked back up to him. "Why did you make me come so early?" He gave me a quick half-smile, sticking his pipe into his mouth. "The theatre isn't even a half an hour's pace away and yet you insist I come two hours before?"

"How does that make you feel?" He asked, lighting his pipe. His bemused grin gave me the sense that he took enjoyment out of making a fool of me.

"A tad dramatic, Mr. Holmes."

"I was hoping you'd say something along those lines." He continued on as he turned a corner. I rushed after him, not noticing his change in course towards the stage. "You must realize Miss Adkins, that I can never resist a bit of the dramatic when pertaining to my cases."

I still wasn't exactly sure of what was happening, but I noticed that we were no longer on the subject of a magic show any longer. "Cases? This wouldn't have to do with those kisses does it?" Holmes stayed silent as we turned another street corner. It was then that I noticed; this was not the way. In fact, this was the route I took to get home."It does," I sighed breathlessly. "You know, I've got to agree somewhat with Watson on this one, sir. I don't see much in this case to look into."

"You must treat a crime as a human," Holmes replied smoothly as we started heading closer towards my street. "You must read it from the inside out, in order to fully understand it." We stopped as we came to my street. I noticed a large group of the Scotland Yard standing in front of the house. My eyes grew wide. The investigation had already begun. "No matter how long it takes, you must attempt. And normally, Watson would join me on this field, but being in the process of having a Mrs. Watson I've decided to cut his hours."

I smiled genuinely towards him as we approached the door. Surely, Watson would not be left out on this case. In Holmes' view of generosity, he would simply… not be there for the beginning of the investigation. And on that note, Watson surely did not have his hours cut. He would have told Holmes to stay out of his buisness. Funny, how much you can learn about a person in a day. "You're quite generous, detective," I mocked sarcastically.

His positive attitude seemed to lower as he faced a sharp faced man. "Not with him, I'm not."

The policeman in front of us rolled his eyes. I glanced at his nice waistcoat, necktie and bowler hat. He wore no uniform like his partners and had no number sewn onto his collar. Instantly, I recognized him as Inspector Lestrade. He was quite the crime buster in England. Ever since that Lord Blackwood fellow had been found, he was making a name for himself. Though his appearance was average, he was sort of an enigma to London; his first name never being known. All I could remember was the starting letter. "Hello, G." Sherlock grumbled.

"Inspector Lestrade." The man corrected him with a sly look on his ferret-like face. "Glad to see you could make it."

"I know you're always charmed to see me, as I am with you." Sherlock replied with a hint of affectionate mockery. He wriggled his brows for extra emphasis before lighting up his pipe.

The inspector ignored his immaturity and jumped right in. "We checked the chimney for any disturbances and were impressed to find none. The door was bolted shut and none of the windows were broken. There's no way he or she could have gotten in. They must have murdered her when she left her house."

A lump rose in my throat as I learned more of the situation. Holmes glanced curiously at the door. His eyes skimmed over the fading kisses. He quickly whipped off his glove, his fingers lightly tracing over the marks as though he were afraid he would damage the scene. I watched him peculiarly, entranced by his delicacy. "That would be improbable," he said suddenly. Lestrade raised a curious brow. "I have learnt from a highly reliable source that this woman often never left her house." We exchanged a bemused glance at one another.

"Perhaps it was a special occasion," the inspector replied. "Everyone has to go out some time."

"Actually, she was here," I said, catching him off guard. "If the night of her murder was only two nights ago, she was in her home. I saw her window light on after I stepped outside for a nightly stroll. She wouldn't have gone out; it was too late for that. I only saw her once though, reading. Nothing peculiar."

A man with a thick mustache had been listening in on the conversation. Him and Lestrade exchanged hesitant glances with one another as I eyed the number on his collar. 141. "The lipstick is noteworthy," Holmes said out of the blue. Everyone turned their heads towards him ardently, only to watch him press a thin piece of parchment up to one of the marks. He pulled away carefully, a faded kiss evident. "If you would have called me a day later Inspector the whole case could have been destroyed." He folded it up, before swiftly tucking it in his pocket. "Moisture in lipstick isn't extensive."

Lestrade sighed, nodding. "Fantastic, Holmes. I hope that ends up going splendidly. If you want to play a paper to lip matching game with the whole of the Empire, be my guest."

"If you don't trust my motives, Inspector, I suggest you wait until I have given you the full introduction. On that note, I've already picked up on a note or two by the dark areas on the door." Lestrade started at him anxiously. Despite their bickering, it was obvious they admired one another. "This type of wood is easily stainable. When the suspect kissed this door they left a dark ring around the marks." He motioned to the circles. "It's apparent that this person chewed tobacco." Lestrade coughed a bit in embarrassment, upset that he was being shown a hoodwink. Sherlock Holmes, the great detective, had already been tracking clues.

"Miraculous," I whispered in astonishment.

I wasn't paying attention to what was going on, still entranced in his methods, until I noticed the inspector giving me an unpleasant look. "You've said yourself that women are only good in the prime of a case, Holmes. When the case is over, you realize they're not much of a use any more, do you? A statement as cold as that one, makes me wonder what you're taking to her is." I stood silently as Holmes lowered onto his knees, picking at the lock. In response, he said nothing. "You have my permission to search her home, Holmes. Return to me by the week with a lead if you even have one by then. The rest of us will get to the real decoding with the body. Enjoy your games." Holmes grunted in amusement as the men headed away from the scene.

My mind was replaying the words Lestrade had said moments ago. _When the case is over, you realize they're not much of a use any more, do you?_ I knew I was just his maid, but if that were true, what _was _I doing here? "Holmes?" I said softly. He glanced up with little attention. "Why _am_ I here? I mean, why am I in the middle of all this?"

"You're a seemingly worth-while companion to have along on this case," he said quickly. "It would be a great unease to both of us if you were sitting around at my home, doing nothing while I was away decoding the immorality of London. Not to mention," he said slowly, kicking open the door with a loud bang. "Your intellect has so far been displayed as decent, so I figured bringing you along on this wouldn't harm you terribly. That can be subject to change if your personality is other than what I saw yesterday."

"What if I... Well, I'm just your maid. I don't think I can help you." There was more I wanted to say to him, but I held my tongue. There was no need for me to be frustrated with him. Holmes was not a people person, that was apparent. I understood how that felt. If Holmes was not a people person, he was not fond of women. The only way he would be was if they were somehow helpful to him in his cases. I understood what Lestrade meant and would push the topic no more.

"You want to do this, don't you?" I thought it over in my head. The very idea of a crime, a strange sense of adventure filled me with excitement. He was right; I did sort of want to help him, though I was saddened I was only there as a Watson replacement. "I could tell by the way you were watching me copy that kiss on the door." He spun around, facing me as I shut the door behind me. "Quite intrigued."

"Don't be so confident with me yet," I teased. "Just because you know of me, doesn't mean you know me."

"Well!" He said, clasping his hands together before stepping inside the house. "We'll just have to rearrange that situation, won't we?"

It was then when I realized the gravity of my situation. My face went blank, and I froze where I was. Renadale Adkins, the estranged, the inventor- was now working with the greatest detective in London. And I had no idea what I was doing.


	6. The Bitter Reality

**Woohoo! Thanks for all the reviews you guys! I don't have time right now to individually comment on some of them, so of course, brownie points to all of you for being so awesome! Sorry I failed to update yesterday- my one chapter a day streak was ruined because of Music Man auditions. (Wish me luck!) **

**Keep reading, keep commenting, and keep truckin'!**

**~mistro**

**~.~.~.~.~**

We'd been rummaging through the woman's drawers and cabinets for some time now and had only learned of a few things that were relatively interesting. 1. Her name was Emily Goodman. 2. She was a botanist. 3. She had a collection of old razors.

"There's nothing unusual here... aside from the razors." I realized how tired I was when I nearly sat back into a dusty old chair. Then I remembered where I was and decided against it. "We should leave. This just doesn't feel right to me; going through her things that she was so private about." Dust encircled us. I wondered how many people had actually come and gone through her apartment anyway.

Holmes's eyes jolted across the room, down to the floor, and up to the ceiling. There had been several occasions I had asked what he was looking at, but he never seemed to answer. Or, if he did, he would mumble something that I couldn't quite catch. After I had pathetically given up, he turned on his heels to a desk, and began pulling out the drawers. He flipped through papers and tossed out old jewelry. I sat uncomfortably, feeling a bit bad for this Emily Goodman. These were her _private_ things; and we were like marauders.

"Fascinating," he said suddenly.

"What is it?" He held a slip of paper close to his face. Whatever was on the paper planted a self-confident smile onto his face. "What does it say?"

I glanced down at the paper, reading it along with him. There was a symbol at the top, which I recognized instantly. "A caduceus," I said aloud. I watched as my boss turned to me with a proud smile. "Either she was incorporated with Greek mythology groupings, or she was having some kind of medical help."

"Medical," he said, pointing to a section on the parchment. As I read the words, I felt my stomach churn a little bit. What Holmes had said about her to Watson when we had first seen the article was right. "She was paranoid and needed help." He folded up the paper and tucked it into his pocket along with the kiss mark. "This paper was given to her by her doctor, simply."

"Yes?" I said a bit confused. I really needed to understand this whole deductive thing in order to keep up with him. "What do you think her doctor has anything to do with?"

"This was at the top of her drawer. By the date, it was the most recent medical paper she had in there. Her doctor had visited her a week ago, they had a meeting and she gave her the paper, leaving as though a normal day. The doctor hasn't been here since."

I glanced at him curiously. The whole idea seemed very strange to me; making assumptions before we even knew anything about this person- but then again, what did I know about being a detective? All I ever did was read and invent. Oh, and sleep. Ah, and of course eat and bathe… That's besides the point however. "So you think the doctor has something to do with it?"

"No," he said sternly, tucking the paper back into his pocket. "It's a possibility, however. And when it comes to a case, Miss Adkins, you must inspect all and forget nothing and always keep your mind open."

I felt myself frown. His words were put nicely, but I couldn't relate. I found it odd how calmly he spoke to had just met and speaking to him in such a fashion made me forget entirely that he was my boss. I felt like I had known him for much longer. "Miracles," I chuckled. He eyed me curiously, sensing something was wrong. "Perhaps one has not woken you up, but I regret to inform you that no such thing exists in London anymore."

"Or anywhere," he corrected. I smiled; glad to see he agreed. "That's just it, Miss Adkins. You must keep your eyes open. A detective can never solve a case with his eyes closed."

"That doesn't mean you'll get lucky."

"Every crime solved is a sensation, Renadale," he said with a tranquil look on his face. "Despite the entire aspect of there being a misdemeanor. You will realize the feeling soon enough." He suddenly tipped his hat and extended his arm to me. "A case is never fully done without the help of some good inspiration. And on that note, we leave for the theater."

Somehow, I think I was unable to resist the smile that was growing on my face. Earlier when I was speaking of miracles becoming untrue, I had been thinking back to my father. He had always been a good man. A quiet man, but a good man none the less. He was excellent with medicine. He would stay up late trying to find the connection between all humans. I had such faith in him. I told him every morning and every night that he could do whatever he set his mind to, that he _would _do it, and the next thing I know his work is done. He's moved on to a different world. It wasn't fair. It _isn't _fair. I would never forgive God for taking him away from me. When he died, so did my hope for miracles.

Despite my horrid curses, and despite my aching long for my father, Sherlock Holmes had a way of making me feel better. If a lonely man like himself could find some sort of bliss in the world, especially with his profession, I could too. I just had to keep looking to find out what it was. "The theater sounds nice right now," I said after a moment of thinking. "I could use a bit of magic."

"Agreed," he said as we headed out of the musty house. "The feeling of being in reality too long leaves a bad taste in one's mouth."

~.~.~.~.~.~

Once we entered the theatre (it seemed small on the outside; commonly displayed by bricks) inside it was quite marvelous. We walked into a bustling crowd, common folk, rich folk alike, everyone seeming to want to escape the dirty air of London for a while. I handed the tickets to a man before he lead us into the house. "It's a wonderful show," Holmes whispered to me as we were being led to our seats. "At any rate, _you_ should enjoy it."

"Not you?" I asked, frowning.

He raised a brow, somehow amused by the idea. "Deduction particularly pulls away at the entertainment of a magic show. However, Don Giovanni was not in town so I merely chose the next exciting option."

I laughed as we took our seats. "I should have figured. The greatest detective in all of London coming to a magic show, expecting to be mystified, does sound a bit irrational. You know all the tricks. None the less, I thank you for inviting me. A normal woman like me never gets tired of being perplexed." He looked over at me with a quick smile before something in front of me caught his eye. His suddenly stood up, scrunching his face. I followed his gaze and suddenly I knew his intentions. "Holmes, don't. Leave him be."

"I only want to share our findings," he mumbled as he was already scooting himself out to the aisle. He apologized repeatedly to everyone's knees he bumped although he was practically sprinting through them.

"Sir!" I quickly rushed after him. "We don't have any findings!" The men in women in the aisle by now were complaining and shouting curses towards us, but I didn't seem to care at the moment. I just needed to catch my boss. "Mr. Holmes, wait!"

I followed after him as he rushed to the opposite side of our seating section. Before I could catch him he was already at the end of their aisle, motioning for his friend to come. He continuously wagged his finger towards him, who continued to shake his head furiously and adlib; _No._

Out of breath, I made my way up to Holmes. "With all respect, sir, this is his time with Mary. I think he'd appreciate it if he was not disturbed by the case." I honestly had no idea, but judging my Watson's reaction last night he did not seem to want to be informed of the case very much. I understood. If I was getting married, all of my energy would be focused on that.

"He's with Mary nearly every day," he grumbled. "I only want to share a bit of information."

"You said you'd give him some time off," I reminded him. He looked at me briefly before looking away. He knew I was right; he just didn't want to admit it. "I understand you want him to help, but he's in love and you have to accept that fully to-"

"Hello Renadale," a peeved voice said to me. I spun around to see Watson standing, his face wearing a tight frown. Before I could even respond back, he grabbed his friend fiercely by the upper arm and led him out into the lobby. I followed quickly behind, not certain of what to do. "What the hellare you doing here, Holmes? Are you following us?"

"What do you mean?" He said, pulling out his pipe in heat of frustration. Watson angrily snatched it from his mouth. "That's my pipe, Watson!"

"Yes, and in that theater, is my _fiancée_! And she's worth a lot more than your… _stupid _pipe!" Without a second thought, Watson took the tobacco holder and tossed it in a nearby rubbish bin. I gasped audibly. Holmes's face fell, his composure clearly changing to a livid one.

"I'm afraid you just crossed the line."

"You're spying on us, aren't you? I mean, I get to have dinner with Mary, yes, but when we want to try to be alone one more time, you just can't have it, can you? It's always about _you_, isn't it? When will you wake up and realize your arrogance?"

My boss was about to speak, but I jumped in quickly before he could damage the situation even more. I'm not sure where my confidence came from, but I didn't like making scenes and they certainly were about to. "We weren't planning on spying on you." Watson raised a brow, obviously surprised that I was backing up his friend. Surely he would listen to me, right? After all, I don't think I came off as a liar. "We just came out because... who can resist a magic show?" Watson shot a look to his friend who was a clear answer to that question. "Alright, _besides _him. It's not his fault he's terribly good at picking up on things. He was simply taking me to see a show, as a way to be friendly." I actually no idea why we were there, but if it calmed down Watson, it would have to do. "Isn't that right, sir? It was a welcoming gift of sorts."

The two of us waited for his answer in silence. Watson's eyes were glued to his friend, waiting for his honest answer. I stared at him as well, expecting him to agree with me in order to remain on good terms. "Yes," he finally said. He lifted his chin defensively. "I commit a harmless act and how do you punish me? You throw away my pipe."

Watson rolled his eyes. "Forget about the pipe, Holmes." Holmes's face fell back to a guilty one and he nodded bleakly. At least they were quick to settle their differences. "Why else are you here?" He faced me this time. "You can't seriously want to spend an evening with Holmes for no reason."

I was going to protest, but Holmes beat me to it. "In actuality we came so I could get Miss Adkins to deduct some of the escaping and entering methods used in the tricks."

"What?" I asked, bewildered.

"Yes," he continued as though I knew what he was talking about. Or had he actually planned it this way? "We recently came from the home of the murdered and have learned that nothing was disturbed in the house and are now trying to solve how she was killed. I figured that Miss Adkins should have a try at attempting to figure out some breaking and entering tricks herself." A feeling inside me encouraged me to believe that this was _not _originally the plan—and rather, we really _were_ just going to see a magic show, but with the case presenting itself it seemed reasonable.

"You want her to try and solve the tricks?" Watson chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest. "Why, Holmes? Why are you dragging her into your games?"

I shook my head, defensively. "It's really not like that. He's not pushing me around. I… offered to help…" So, I was lying, but in a sense when the opportunity presented itself I hadn't declined. Technically I had approved to work with him on the case. "Yes... I agreed to help."

"Help?" Dr. Watson looked curiously between us. "Help with what?"

"Welcome Miss Adkins to our team, dear Watson."

Watson's eyes grew wide as he stared at me blankly. Slowly, a dark look drew across his face as he began to shake his head. "Miss Adkins, I _highly _suggest you get out of this now. Once you're with him for more than three days, there's no getting out of it, or… he'll hunt you down. Even if you're with your fiancée." Angrily, Watson shot his friend a look.

"Maybe I would have stopped bothering you," Holmes said a bit too loudly. "But now that you so blatantly tossed away my pipe-"

"Stop!" I interrupted while trying my hardest not to laugh. "No, it's actually rather exciting; like an adventure."

Watson tossed both hands in the air. "Look what you've done to her."

Holmes looked at me for a moment before that familiar twinkle arose in his eyes. "Marvelous, isn't she?"

Bleakly, I smiled. I wasn't sure if marvelous was the exact word. But, as I stood between the two men I couldn't help but feel needed. They were already treating me like I was one of them. Now, I just had to prove it. Somehow.


	7. Secrets, Secrets

While the three of us were in the midst of arguments, insults, agreements and complaints, I hadn't even noticed a lovely red-headed figure approach us. "How long do you think it will take them to notice I've joined the party?" She laughed softly.

I smiled at her and wondered the same question. Of course her voice interrupted Holmes and Watson's conversation and they both quickly faced our direction. "Mary," Holmes said quickly, tipping his hat. "Always a pleasure." She smiled sweetly. Whatever hostility she had for Holmes was easily hidden. After all, she was her future husband's best friend. Even if Watson didn't want to admit it sometimes.

"Mary!" Watson's cheeks turned a shade of red in embarrassment. "I'm sorry," he said instantly. "I was going to come in just a moment, but-"

"Another case has presented itself, John?" She asked, crossing her arms over her chest. I could tell just by looking at her that her question was not a sign of mockery or embarrassment, but rather a playful tease. She supported whatever he chose to do as long as he left some time for her. The more I looked at them, the more picturesque they were. She was lovely and so was he. I wondered inwardly why Holmes had so much hostility against their being together. Was Watson his only friend?

Watson laughed, distracting my thoughts. "Yes, but I won't do it." Holmes was obviously disappointed.

"What do you mean you won't do it? You just agreed, not two minutes ago-"

"Yes, but I've changed my mind suddenly..." Watson interrupted. "I need to be with Mary. We need to focus on the wedding and I'm not just going to leave it up to her."

"Yes, you will." Mary interjected. Watson's face dropped suddenly, confused by her words. "I'm going out of town to spend time with my family for the next couple of weeks, regardless. They'll be helping me plan the wedding a bit, so you can stay here in London and help them." She looked over at me with a quick smile. I couldn't point out why, but I saw a trace of sadness in it. "After all, dear. This could help regain your status a bit more after the Blackwood case." I remembered clearly that a doctor had pronounced him dead when he still walked the Earth. It hadn't struck me that it had been Watson! Regardless, I held respect for the young doctor as I'm sure all of London did.

Watson stepped forward to her, in desperation. "But Mary-"

She gently held his hands in her own pale ones. "I want you to stay here. When I come back we can plan the rest of it together." There was a long pause. You could see the pleading on Watson's face; but her eyes were adament. Mary had that way about her. I admired it and wished I could be as strong as she. First I had to find confidence in myself.

"Alright, fine," he sighed. Mary cracked a small smile. "Let's just go inside," he mumbled, taking her hand and walking back towards the doors. "We can talk about this later, dear."

Before they disappeared from view I heard Mary chuckle and reply; "There's nothing to talk about John."

Holmes and I stood in silence for a moment before we exchanged glances. I shrugged. "She obviously loves him very much." He didn't say anything. He blinked a couple of times nonchalantly before walking over to the litter bin and pulling out his pipe. I frowned, disgusted. "You're not really going to keep that are you?"

"It's not trash," he stated simply, tucking it into his pocket. "Therefore, it does not belong in that can." I couldn't disagree with that. I was about to reply when the slamming of two doors interrupted me. I looked up to see the doors to the theatre being shut.

"No wait!" I said, rushing towards them. "We have to get in there! You see, we were just using the restroom." The guard eyed me curiously.

"I'm sorry, but once the doors are shut, I'm not allowed to let anyone back inside until the next act or if they have a ticket." I began to feel around in my jacket pockets but realized I had left them inside.

I was about to protest, but Holmes placed a hand in front of my face, silencing me. I looked down at it uncomfortably. What were we going to do? "That's quite alright. I understand that you've only been asked to do your duty. No need to worry about us, we'll be perfectly content." He snatched my wrist before either the guard or I could respond, and pulled me out the enterance and down the side alley.

"Where are we going?" I asked with shock as he continued dragging me along. He stopped outside of a brown door that nearly blended in with the stone wall. "Where are we?" He shushed me and pulled out a key, unlocking the door. "Figures," I grumbled. "Secret passageways."

He removed the key from the lock, pushing open the door. I was about to walk in when he stopped me again. "Not a secret passageway. We're going backstage." He stepped back, allowing me to walk in, but I stood my ground.

"No, we're not." I said bluntly. "We are not going backstage."

"That's where this door leads and in our situation we are standing outside of the door."

I eyed him curiously. "How'd you get that key?"

"Not every question needs an answer."

"Well, we're not in the show, therefore we should leave before someone-"

"We paid to see the show. Therefore, I think backstage is a reasonable place to go." He shoved me inside suddenly, joining a moment later. He quickly shut the door, locking it from inside. Everything was dark, and the room was so small, I couldn't move without running into him. Wherever we were, it was not backstage.

"Where are we, really?" I whispered. I could hear people talking; performers presenting their next trick. The voices were coming from my left. "Holmes?" I whispered again. We were in the room so long; I could hear the audience applauding for the end act. He'd been silent the whole time. I knew he was there, but he was just so quiet; I would have thought him dead if I had not heard his breathing. I had to admit that I was beginning to become a nevous wreck. Secretly, I longed to be back in my own room with my bolts and plates. I couldn't remember the last time I had been so social with people, but the worst part was that with my new boss it was a very odd kind of social. I didn't even know where I was!

"We're not actually backstage," he mumbled. That was already clearly obvious and something I had been pondering over for minutes. "We're next door. Scene room. However, the floor you are standing on will take us _under_ the stage."

"Are we… going underneath the stage for any particular reason?" I felt a hand tap my foot. I screamed, jumping out of the way. "What was that? Something just touched me!"

"That's me Adkins," Holmes laughed, pushing my feet out of the way. His voice was coming from the floor. "You must move so I can lift the door, therefore taking us…" I heard the click of a lock undoing itself, and I suddenly saw a door open, letting light into the small room. "Under the stage." I crouched down with Holmes, seeing people running quickly back and forth below. "Backstage isn't always backstage. For a magic show, you must have somewhere to disappear to."

I glanced over at him with a smile. "How did you know this was here?"

Before he could answer, a very short man looked up at us from below. He squinted his eyes. "Holmes?" He said in an unusually high voice. "Is that you?" Holmes put his pipe in his mouth. He didn't need to say a word. That was enough to recognize him by. "It is you! Well what are you waiting for? Come down, come down!"

Holmes suddenly stuck his legs through the small hatch, grabbing onto a ladder, and pulling himself onto the ground below. A moment later, both he and the small man looked up at me, waiting for me to join. I stuck my legs quickly through the hole, and climbed down the ladder to meet them. Nervously, I stuck my hand out to the small man who shook it happily. I was able to get a better look at him from the same level. He was perhaps in his fifties, with a large, white beard sprouting from his ruddy face. He looked friendly enough, but I was never good with introductions and didn't know where to start. "Hello, I'm Renadale Adkins. I'm Mr. Holmes' ma-"

"Other partner," he said suddenly. We exchanged glances; mine stern, his pleased. The other man was enthralled. He was shaking my arm even more enthusiastically before I could explain the truth to Holmes's statement.

"Any friend of Mr. Holmes is welcome here!" He suddenly dropped his voice to a whisper. "Unless of course they're planning on giving away any of our secrets. My name is Marcus; been friends with Mr. Holmes' here for quite some time now." He looked down at his watch, his eyes growing wide. "Feel free to look around! I've got to get on stage!" The man quickly took off; running up a staircase leading to what I presumed was the real backstage.

A woman in a long yellow gown brushed past me as she brushed her long blonde hair. A hatch door from above quickly opened, a young man falling down onto a mattress as his friends helped him up. For a simple magic show, everything around me seemed to be non-stop. "Well, this is quite the place." I looked over at Holmes with a genuine smile. He returned the gesture. I paused for a moment, thinking over the situation. "If you knew this was here… why did you take so long to open the door?"

He looked over at me in silence. There was a long pause, and I shifted on my feet rather uncomfortably. It seemed like I was always making situations uncomfortable, but honestly, why _had _he taken so long? The room was so small and dark; he knew I had to want to get out of there. Didn't he? I was sure my breathing was shaky enough for him to tell.

"I wanted you to hear some of the show," he replied. "Since we would be here the rest of the time."

_Of course, Renadale! How stupid of you to ask! _I nodded quickly, walking past him before he could see my cheeks turn red. "Of course you did," I said softly, pausing in front of a makeup mirror. "Thank you for taking me down here. I promise I won't tell a soul."

He casually made his way behind me. We both looked at ourselves in the mirror for a moment. Something about the way his hair spread out in all directions made me smile. Something about my own curls reminded me of his. We both shared a dark look, but Holmes had the excitement of mystery all over his face. Mine was pale and plain, with no stories to tell.

"Anything down here interesting to you?" He suddenly asked.

"Well, now I know how some of them disappear and get back on stage so quickly." I pointed to the hand-cranked lifting floor and the mattress behind me.

"No ideas stirring from it?" He said, smirking.

I tried to grasp what he was saying. I looked away from him, and stared at the machines. A man was being lifted up onto the stage now. I could hear the audience applauding as the floor finished rising. Secret doors; it all seemed so simple now. There were still many other tricks to decode, but this one was so obviously simple, that it completely blew my mind. "Secret doors?" I laughed. My heart suddenly stopped beating. I looked over him quickly, my eyes wide. "You knew the entire time, didn't you? You brought me here, so I could realize it too?"

"Ever since Lestrade mentioned nothing was disturbed, I figured it would be a suitable initiative."

"There's a secret door to get inside her house?" I asked bewildered. "How though? How could anyone know about it and why exactly hers?"

He began pacing the floor. I could see the ideas churning inside his head. "The way I view it is that the pipe system for her house and perhaps other homes and stores are all connected. There must be some way to get down there without going inside her house to take care of any issues that arise. That way the murderer could have gotten to her." His words probably made sense, but in the midst of the actors and magicians flooding around me it was hard to concentrate. "In case of a broken door for the pipes or a flooding, there has to be another exit. One inside her house."

I stared at him in amazement. The very idea of another entry way, another passage, seemed so simple. So simple, that the human mind looked over it like a breeze. I grinned towards him in amazement. "Perhaps I ought to start attending more magic shows."

~.~.~.~.~

Later that evening when we were all back at Holmes and Watson's building, I joined Mary downstairs for a cup of tea. We'd been talking for a while and we soon kindled a possible friendship. She was mature and illegent about books and social life. She outshone me in every possible light, but I admired her for it. I held no jealousy. She was a woman who could teach you so much, afterall she was a governess, and one that never flaunted it. "I'm afraid I've become terribly jealous," she laughed. "If any woman I don't know is speaking with John, I just instantly assume things."

"You have every right to be protective. He's your fiancé! I would be nervous and a bit upset as well." She looked down at her tea with a small smile on her face. It was that same smile from before; the one that struck me as a bit sad. "I don't want to intrude on anything personal, but is something wrong between you two?"

Her head lifted quickly, her eyes wide. "Between me and John? Heavens, no." She laughed, flapping her hands towards me. "I just feel as though I'm tearing him away from his old life. He acts bitter towards Holmes, but I know him. They're brothers." I watched her sadly take another sip of her tea. "I support him for whatever he chooses to do. Although I want him to myself…" she confessed, chuckling a bit. "I don't want to take him away from everyone else."

"No, you're not," I assured her, placing a warm hand on hers. She continued to frown, however "Mary, Dr. Watson's friends and family in London aren't leaving his life. If he wanted to stay here and solve cases with Mr. Holmes then he would choose that. He's been doing this for some time now and he wants to be with you. You're not pulling him away from anything." I warned myself that I was making assumptions I didn't know, but it sounded nice and I thought it was pretty decent. And if it was making Mary more relaxed then I would sacrifice certainty. I never had talent for it anyway.

"How do you know that?"

"I don't," I confessed. "I barely know John. Yet, people are all the same in some way. When I saw at him look at you, I knew he wanted nothing but to be with you. He doesn't protest against Mr. Holmes for any plain reason."

Her frown began to loosen and form more of a smile. "They're practically married sometimes." That was something that was becoming evermore apparent to me. I couldn't help but smile when I thought of their pointless arguments. "I know John loves solving crimes with him, though. He acts like he doesn't because he thinks he's protecting our relationship from horrors. It helps take his mind off of the war, too. I don't want to pull him away from something he loves."

"He loves _you_, Mary."

She looked over at me with a wider smile. "He certainly better."

Mary stared up at me for a moment before shaking her head. I wasn't sure what she meant by the small gesture, but it didn't bother me. We must have been sitting there for at least an hour as Holmes discussed things with Watson upstairs. The last time I had talked to another woman for that long, besides my mother, was years ago. Yet, it all came flooding back. Perhaps it was just Mary Morstan. Perhaps I was breaking free from my comfort shell. Whatever it was, I found myself liking myself more and more with each new person I met. And I was just getting started.


	8. Grey Eyes

***gets butter flies in her stomach* Oh ya guys. You make me so incredibly happy on a gloomy Ohio day. Therefore, I update you with another chapter (and a longer one, mind you)! Please keep the reviews coming and welcome all of you lovely new readers! **

**Everyone- I've realized that Watson thing. It's throwing me off too I'm trying my best! This story does take place after the movie, and Holmes has bugged him quite a lot in the movie, and the fact that he's bugging him even **_**more **_**I do want him to get a tad bit pissed, but I'll take care of it as best as I can! **

**Rosewood- Thanks so much for the compliments! =D I would certainly love to give you a Downey Jr, but I'm afraid I want him to myself… ;) BUT HE DIDN'T WIN WAH! The music won though, so we're all good. It is an INCREDIBLE soundtrack.**

**Kim- A plushie Fox Holmes? Talk about adorable! =D**

**Kazz-I know what you mean; I pop up in conversations all the time too! And keep Mr. Birdie away for now, ha-ha! Thanks always for the excellent reviews!**

**Gosh, okay, I wish I could seriously comment to all of you.. Okay, you all know I love you- so please keep the reviews flowin' it like money at a movie! Speaking of that I was watching some clips the other day on YouTube and I about died laughing at the part where ****Holmes starts taking off Watson's belt and Watson's eyes get really huge and Sherlock goes; "Don't get excited."**__**Oh man… I loved that part. **

**~mistro **

~.~.~.~.~

Later that day into the evening when Mary had left, Watson, Holmes and I were left to think things over. We all lounged around lazily in his room. As I stared at the two pondering men, I couldn't help but feel out of place. I was with two men! Casually! If only mother could see my now. She would never complain to me again. "The whole idea is vague," Watson said carefully as he leaned against the window. "It's certainly plausible. You would just need to see if there was some sort of enterance beneath her home and follow where it connects to."

Holmes was sprawled out on a sofa with one leg dangling off the edge and the other across the top. His violin rested lazily on his chest as he strummed it lightly with his fingers. "You know the neighborhood well, Miss Adkins," he mumbled towards me as his eyes focused on the ceiling. "Do you have any place beneath your dwelling for irrigation purposes?"

I thought it over in my head and tried to think more about the structure of my home. Although I spent most of my time upstairs in my room, I hadn't recalled any news of a trap door being found downstairs. "Not that I recall," I shrugged. "As far as I know the houses on my side of the street are all connected with their pipes, but I could be mistaken."

Holmes sat up and creased his brows together. It was a look I was becoming more and more familiar with as our discoveries continued on. A look of disturbance passed his face before he stood up and brushed off his pants as though ready to go somewhere. Watson and I looked at one another in confusion. "Holmes?" Watson askedcarefully, speaking for both of us. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing of the utmost importance, but I have noted a bit of a strange effect in our reasoning." The two of us waited for his explanation. "We've discussed all possibilities, yet have not walked out that door…" he swiftly pointed towards the scratched up door. "…to try and figure out anything." Watson and I both smiled in amusement.

"Well, I don't know about Dr. Watson, but I've certainly been ready to go for quite some time. I would love to watch your two minds at work," I confessed. "I didn't want to disturb your delicate thinking methods." It was hard for me to hide my admiration. Perhaps I didn't get out enough to be hard to impress, but I really believed them to be genius. I hoped that I would get to see it continue throughout the case.

Watson laughed genuinely standing up and patting me on the back. Holmes eyed his doctor friend curiously. "I presume you're coming along? Otherwise, you would not have been sitting here for such a while, when you have important medical business to attend to."

Watson seemed unable to hide his friendly smile that had been missing for some time. Now that Mary convinced him to help, he was much calmer and much more patient around Holmes. "I can't say I don't. I'm also risking my entire career just being partners with you. I'm sure I don't need to remind Renadale of the Blackwood case. I'm assuming she read about it." I said nothing, not wanting to upset the doctor. I did know what he was speaking of, but his name was eventually recovered. "If it weren't for Holmes... Well, my name would still be tainted." Despite his obvious disappointment, Watson continued to smile.

"Rat," Holmes grunted, tossing on his jacket.

"Rat?" Watson questioned with offense. "I've decided to help you, and you degrade me to the status of a rat?" He raised his chin defensively, adjusting his tie. "John H. Watson, M.D. is certainly past the intelligence of a rat."

Holmes glanced over at me with a bemused smirk. "For a doctor with such intelligence, surely you know that the rat is one of the cleverest critters on Earth. I was merely serving you a compliment,Watson." In a sense that he had won, Holmes proudly strutted out the room.

"Touché." Watson laughed with me. "I'm glad he's gone ahead," he said as we headed downstairs. "I'd rather be walking with someone a bit more… _balanced _anyways_." _I smiled to over towards him, wondering if his bitterness would ever end. He could sense the question in my eyes and quickly explained himself. "Look, Miss Adkins... Do you mind me calling you Renadale?"

"Not at all, sir."

"Renadale," he restated. "I'm not sure if I'd confess this openly with Holmes, but he is my closest and dearest friend. The last case, and things with Mary have put me on edge. There's no one else to take my distress out on, because he's someone I spend a lot of time with."

I understood. "I can't say I spend much time with people, but I know where you're coming from. And honestly, he doesn't seem to mind it. The fact that he continues teasing you shows that he expects those sort of reactions out of you."

Watson merely smiled as he adjusted his hat better on his head. "Thank you, Renadale. Sometimes it's nice to have a second opinion." Butterflies flickered through my stomach. My advice was actually appreciated?

"Well," I couldn't help but blush as we both headed down the stairs together. "I try my best."

~.~.~.~.~

We were now standing outside of Emily Goodman's home and all of us a bit hesitant to go inside for some reason. It was the barely the start of the evening and the streets were still decently filled. The three of us standing outside of an apartment, looking it over didn't seem _terribly _threatening, although I must admit a bit unusual. "I'd like to get married before I die, Holmes." Watson said bluntly. I looked over towards him with wide eyes, surprised by his confusing statement. "What if the murderer is inside? Or, if they're not... What if this case was as serious as you say? What if something horrible happens and Mary is left a widow without even being married?" A dark look crossed his face. "Again."

Again? Had Mary lost someone before? My heart beat picked up as my heart itself grew tight. The sadness I saw in her eyes the day before suddenly found its way inside of my memory again. So far, the people I had met outside of my room were not as happy as I suspected. I knew, however, that Watson would be the one to change that.

"If he is in there then we shall walk in and introduce ourselves." Holmes had put it simply, but Watson and I exchanged nervous glances nevertheless. Before either of us could protest he walked up to the door and opened it like a breeze. Without turning back to us, he slammed the door behind him as the sound echoed through the now quiet street.

Watson and I stood outside, not moving. "I'm waiting to hear a gun shot or something, as awful as that sounds." I whispered towards him. "If he does get killed, I'm not quite sure how we'll finish this case." Watson looked over at me with a smile. "Then again, it's the middle of the day, so what are the odds?"

"I always find it better to be safe then dead," he said, walking up to the door with me. "When you're with Holmes you never quite know the odds." Watson offered me his hand however. I stared down at it with hesitation. I hadn't held man's hand since my father died. And besides him, it was years before his death. I knew it meant nothing and it was just a playful, polite gesture, but I nearly rejected it. Gritting my teeth, I lightly placed my fingers over his as we stepped inside. Holmes turned around and stared at our hands with a smirk as we entered before Watson let them drop. He walked over and patted his friend on the back. "Glad to see you're still alive, detective."

Holmes faced himself in a gold trimmed mirror. He patted his face before returning to us. "As am I. Glad to see you're still a gentlemen with the ladies, doctor." The two began to talk about the structure of the building, but my eyes were skimming the floor in a hurry. Their voices faded from my ears instantly. To me, the trap door was what was important and my first assumption would be the floor. I spotted nothing unusual until I noticed a rug in the back corner. Was it really that simple? Could it really be? What if I looked like an idjit if I lifted it up and there was nothing there?

What if there was though, and I looked like a genius?

I slowly made my way over to it, catching the men's attention. That was the one thing I wanted to avoid, but I let it go as I got closer to the knitted carpet. Lifting my foot up, I kicked the rug out of the way, only to see a dusty wooden door. I looked over at them with a look of pride on my face. Inwardly, I hoped it wasn't just a storage area.

"A _rug_?" Watson smirked. "You didn't even think to look under a rug?"

Holmes frowned, a bit baffled himself. "Sometimes the most difficult clues are the less obvious."

Watson rolled his eyes and made his way over to the door. He hunched on his knees and ran his rough hands over the top. His fingers tugged at the lock a few times before it popped off easily. "Difficult?" He snickered as he lifted up the hatch with a creak. "... Ha. Missing a rug."

"It's perfectly sensible-"

"Sensibility isn't often in your vocabulary, Holmes." He glanced at his friends with affectionite mockery. "I'm not complaining. I can't say it's in mine, either."

"Do you recall that time when you wore that grey waistcoat, but I warned you it would only make Mary distract herself from talking to you because of your lack of good clothing taste?"

"Clothing taste? What can you say about decent clothing? And besides, you made me through it out of a moriah window."

"Excuse me!" I said loudly, stopping both of them in the tracks. I was surprised to see that I had actually gotten their attention, but flung my legs down the hole none the less. "We're never going to get anything done if we don't start now." I felt my feet hit a ladder and I slowly began to crawl down the hole. The further down I got, the darker it became. Darkness was not something I was fond of, and with a murderer on the loose I wasn't exactly calm. I decided it was time to put my acting skills to the test however and keep up my genius status. "Alright, fine, don't bother coming down you two," I shouted up to them as they looked down at me from above, their faces a bit cautious. "Just leave the damsel all alone down here in the dark."

Holmes eyes grew wide as he quickly shoved his friend out of the way. "She has a point, Watson," he said before crawling down. "Come down if you find your courage capable."

"I honestly don't know why I tolerate you." Watson followed after him.

"Because without me your life would have no adventure. And that is something I believe even Miss Adkins is finding admirable." He pulled out his pipe from his pocket, lighting it and then using the match so we could see in the dark space.

A loud clanging of metal brought both of us back to reality. Holmes had been hitting hand against one of the pipes along the wall of the dark room. I took a look around the small underground area. A few lines of soft copper pipes were strung across the thick walls, none of them seemingly stable. "Not very effective, but they're certainly pipes. There must be another way ou-"

"Wait," I said suddenly, my heart freezing. I heard the sound a door opening above us. Frantically I climbed up the ladder as softly as I could before grabbing the top of the door and pulling it down a bit. Through a small crack I eyed the room above inquisitively. There was a young man in the middle of the room. His face seemed tired, his curly blonde hair dangling in front of his eyes. His eyes were such a light blue that anyone could mistake them for grey. They skimmed over Emily's belongings as his large hands lightly traced over them. I carefully shut the door, and crawled back down. In his sad state, the boy didn't seem to notice a slight creak of the door hinge. "There's a person in there; a man. He's young with light hair." Watson and Holmes exchanged quick glances. The last thing they wanted was to cause trouble. "I don't recognize him."

Holmes brushed past me as he made his own way up the ladder. He lifted it even more cautiously than I and stared upwards for a moment or two before closing the hatch. Watson then rushed over, doing the same, before returning to us. "It's a man," he stated.

"Brilliant deduction, Watson."

"Whoever he is, he must have known her, right?" I asked. "He didn't look like he was dangerous. In fact, he looked upset." The boy was very skinny, and although handsome, he looked very weak to be fighting anyone. "I think we should go and speak with him. We should try not to scare him away. He could give us some information."

"Popping out from the floorboards wouldn't exactly be the best greeting in my opinion." Watson sighed with obvious stress. He took of his hat and ran his hands through his short hair in frustration. "There must be another exit here. We can take that one and then come back to the house." He snatched Holmes's match from him and made his way over to the farthest corner of the dirt walled room where a small passage way with stairs laid. "Fancy that," he snickered, glancing towards Holmes. "A door."

Holmes mumbled something beneath his breath, sticking his pipe back in his mouth before he brushed past his friend and walked up the stairs. "How convenient," we heard a muffled Holmes say. There was a creaking of another door above us. "Well, aren't you coming?"

Without a second thought I jumped my way up the stairs only to find another trap door already opened by Holmes. He reached down, taking both of my hands and hauling me up. "Thank you," I mumbled, brushing dust off my dress. "What a great way to dirty up a dress," I laughed, embarrassed.

"No, no, it looks lovely," he said as he tucked his pipe away. "I'm fond of it's simplicity. I suppose your hair became a bit untamed on the journey, however." My eyes grew wide as I reached up towards my head. He was right. I could feel my hair sticking out left and right. Without a moment to think of how I could fix it, I felt a finger push a few curls away from my face. As I watched Holmes adjust my hair back to its normality, I could feel my heart beating more rapidly and I found myself needing to regain my balance. The feeling was so peculiar; I couldn't understand why it was happening. I had been near a man before, but as I felt Holmes pull my hair away from my face the lightness in my stomach and shortness of my breath was unfamiliar. It was like I was nervous, but I didn't know why. And at the same time I found myself entranced with him. My eyes were glued to his unshaven face and the more I stared at it, the more uneasy my breathing became. Hesitantly, I stepped away from him and turned my back. _How utterly foolish I must look._

Watson crawled through and I wanted to sigh aloud in relief that the uncomfortable moment was over. Something inside me wished that it wasn't, though. I cursed inside my head. That wasn't supposed to happen. I wasn't supposed to feel like that, especially with someone I was just getting to know.

Holmes offered his friend a hand. We shut the door and all stared around the room. There was nothing there, just wooden walls and a muggy old window looking out onto the street. Piles of dust were gathered in the corners. "How convenient... the door led to nothing." Holmes smiled, looking over at Watson. "I congratulate you on your findings."

"At least I noticed it," he mumbled pathetically. "Come on. Let's get back to the house before he leaves." We opened up an actual front door and made our way out onto the street.

"Well that's quite disappointing," I chuckled, trying to bring things back to normal."I was hoping it would lead to buried treasure, or possibly a secret temple. Some sort of private organization, or soemthing." Holmes and Watson exchanged a concerned glance that was easily caught. "What, are you two not comfortable with rituals?"

"It's not that we're not comfortable," Watson started.

"It's just that we've dealt with those quite enough recently." Holmes finished.

"Oh," I said bluntly. Then I remembered that entire Blackwood incident. I had heard a lot of talk about the end of England, and how Sherlock Holmes saved us all, with the help of his handsome doctor friend John Watson. I wasn't terribly concerned at the time to engage into the situation. Being an inventor sort of lead you to the truth of things. Black magic wasn't something I believed in although they were rather fascinating. Though, magic shows were certainly always fun.

We made our way back to Emily's house and although the door was shut I knew he was still inside. "Perhaps we should leave him be?" I asked as sympathy for the boy flooded through me. "He looked very sad. I don't want to upset him further."

"He could be the one to blame, Renadale," Holmes said. "We might very well be missing an opportunity if we did not go in," My cheeks flushed a shade of red in a feeling of folly. "Don't be bothered by it, your sensitivity will soon fade when you realize that sometimes the better looking of people are the ones to blame."

Watson sighed heavily, walking up to the door. "I'm sure she understands. Let's just go," he said, opening the door. Holmes and I rushed inside next to him. The boy was sitting on a blue couch as we entered and his grey eyes were wide and nervous. He quickly set down a book he was holding and stood up.

"Who are you? What do you want?" He shouted, his voice shaking. We obviously had the element of surprise. I quickly shut the door, afraid the scene would draw attention on the streets.

"If I'm correct, I don't think this is your home," Watson said, crossing his arms over his chest. _He could be frightening if he wanted to be,_ I thought. The boy looked between the two detectives and then laid his eyes on me. He paused for a moment, tilting his head to the side. I still felt a little bad for him. He was sad enough and we were only frightening him so I offered him a small smile. He looked away, his face dropping even more.

"No, it's not," he said slowly. "It's Emily Goodman's home." His face suddenly became stern and he straightened his back. "And if anyone has a right to be here, I don't think it's you! I know who you are. You're those detectives everyone keeps saying saved London. Well, it doesn't matter, because this is one case you should leave alone."

Holmes stepped forward, shaking the boys hand tightly as the boy shrunk back in alarm. "Sherlock Holmes," he introduced himself. I could tell Holmes was just interested in what he was saying rather than trying to intimidate him, but it wasn't working. "And why do you say that?"

"She's _dead_." He said, pulling his hand away from him. "She's not coming back from the grave. She was murdered and for what reason? Her soul is probably better off where it is now, rather than in this hell hole." I could see tears brimming his eyes, ready to pool over. I walked over to him and tried a gentler approach.

"How did you know her?" I asked softly.

He paused for a moment before looking back at me. "I didn't really. I saw her once… her in her pale beauty. I remember everything about her; the way her dark curls wrapped around her face and down past her shoulders. I saw the way she would always frown, but always seem so beautiful despite her nature." He looked forward, seemingly in to a distant memory. "I only talked to her once. She smiled at me then, and I never saw such a beautiful smile."

"How did you see her?" I asked curiously. "She barely left her home."

The boy was about to answer before Holmes stepped in. "He's a botanist."

The boy's eyes grew wide as his head shot up. "How did you know that?"

"The dirt beneath your fingernails and upon your hands," he explained. "When I shook hands with you, I inspected it, only to realize that the kind of dirt upon your hands is not any of the soil in London." He paused a moment as he tried to get his cluttered thoughts together. "I happen to know every kind." I grunted in amusement. He never ceased to surprise me. "Therefore, I knew it had to be imported to work with special plants. Also," he said, suddenly facing me. "You said your father was a science man, correct?" I slowly nodded my head, not understanding where he was taking this. "The way I see it, this boy worked with your father occasionally; _you_ never knew because you were locked up in your tower and _he_ saw the woman from a window in your home. Isn't that right?"

The boy stood silent, his chest heavily moving up and down. After what felt like ages he nodded quickly. "If her father was the late Dr. Adkins, then yes, that's correct. He spoke of a Renadale Adkins... his only daughter. I occasionally heard you walking around upstairs. That is..." he said carefully. "If you are she."

"I... I am she." I weakly rubbed my head. There were far too many questions and scenarios running through my mind at the moment, but I tried to focus on the case as best as I could. "You were fascinated with my neighbor, I presume?" The boy nodded his head briefly before sitting down on the couch with me. I sighed heavily, looking up at Watson and Holmes. "He couldn't have killed her."

"_Kill_ her?" The boy cried, standing up again. "Why would I _kill_ the woman I loved?"

Holmes grunted in disapproval. "You really ought to get better at this, Miss Adkins."

"I didn't kill her," he said harshly beneath his breath. "I'm just a man in love, surely you know what that's like." I curiously looked up to see Holmes reaction, which I found was in a deep grimace. Watson laughed at the very idea, while it saddened me somewhat. Surely he had to have been in love _once_. "Or you don't know," the boy corrected himself. "However, no matter what you do to me, I will never lie to say that I killed her."

"If you didn't do it," Watson said. "Then who did?" Before the boy could answer, he continued on. "What we're trying to do here is establish a base. I'm afraid I can't just let you leave without further inspection on your relationship."

I stood up defensively. I'm not sure what attracted me to the boy. He had to be about my age, maybe even older. I think his confusion in the case reminded me of my own niave status compared to the men and my sympathy level was shooting skyward. "You don't even know him. I think this is a terrible idea. Alright, you can have the police keep an eye on him, but don't interrogate him any longer." I looked towards the boy now. "What is your name?"

"Jacob Irons," he said softly. "I'll answer any of your questions to prove that I'm not guilty of anything." The three of us stood in silence. I didn't know about my partners, but I certainly didn't think he was guilty. It made sense- why would he kill her if he cared for her? Perhaps he wanted her to be in a better place, but I don't think he would have murdered her to do it. "The only other person I know who was with her was her doctor," he said suddenly.

Holmes inched closer as his interest peeked. "Yes, we saw her files. Do you happen to know the doctor's name?"

"Yes," he said quickly. "Yes, her name is Susan Shore. She takes care of unstable people even though I know Emily wasn't crazy." Holmes and I exchanged a brief glance. We had proof to deny that. "She works down the street. Never been married because everyone suspects otherwise."

So, by what he was saying, Susan Shore was interested in women? The idea was enough to make my cheeks burn, though I had nothing against it. It was a dark idea, however. Jacob was saying it was a possibility. I didn't know her personally, so who was I to judge her? However, the idea was rather keen. She probably knew about Emily's home and it's structure if she worked there. She was certainly a possible candidate for the murderer. "We need to meet her," I said. Watson nodded in agreement as Holmes was still running things over in his head.

"Yes," he said. "You're correct Miss Adkins." He glanced over at the boy. "Jacob, we're not quite finished with you, I'm sorry to inform. You will probably be watched." He was about to protest, but I suddenly felt a warm hand grab mine. "I hope you have a lovely rest of your day, Mr. Irons," Holmes said as I was pulled out of the house. "That was certainly interesting, wasn't it?" Holmes said as he drug me down the road. I could hear Watson running after us, but Holmes didn't seem to slow down.

His hand was tightly wrapped around mine, although I tried to pull away. "Are you alright Mr. Holmes?" I said, nearly out of breath. Whatever was going on with him, ideas were forming in his head. Something was happening in his detective mind that I wasn't understanding.

"Mister?" He said a bit wildly. "Why on Earth are you calling me Mister, Miss Adkins?"

Even though I had many other things on my mind, everything stopped at his words. My face froze into a bit of a shocked one. The introverted Holmes was welcoming me into his fanatical world. He was suggesting we go on a first name basis, or at least, that's what it sounded like. Did I have what it took to be a part of his work? I hoped so. "I'm not sure," I sighed suddenly, as his fingers grew warmer around mine. I wasn't sure if he even realized they were there. "I'm... I'm not sure."

"Then, there's no need to call me that," he stated simply. "And on that note, we've got a doctor to find."


	9. Conversation of a Musical Nightmare

**Oh- when I checked the people who won the Golden Globes, I looked at the drama section not the comedy. XD Slipped my mind.**

**YAYYYY HE WONNN! WHOOO HOO! I watched his acceptance speech too, terribly funny and terribly adorable... :] Oh fan girls. **

**I want to thank all of you as a whole. You're all so incredible! You're my FAVORITE READERS EVER! Therefore you get an award! Expect it in the mail in three days. It will be the biggest trophy you've ever seen, with your very own Sherlock Holmes stuffed animal inside the cup. (I wish.)**

**~mistro **

~.~.~.~.~.~

Although I was supposed to leave work early evening, I ended up staying with Watson and Holmes much later than anticipated. My mother was either having a fit about where I was or was out on the town and not worrying a bit about me. I presumed the second one, which was good, so long as I could have more time with Holmes and Watson.

"You know, most people would have thought I could have mastered this thing by now." Holmes said, holding up his violin.

Watson smirked from across the room while I let out a genuine chuckle. "This might surprise you detective, but sometimes you have to practice to get good at things." Holmes eyed me like a madman before quickly fiddling a melody. "Despite your complaints, you're wonderful detective. Bravo!" I laughed, as he graciously took a bow.

"You honestly think so? It's no wonder this concert was free," Watson teased. "Terrible performance!" Holmes began to swat at him with his bow as Watson smacked it away from him, laughing and insulting still. "Awful! You have no talent whatsoever! I think my ears are bleeding."

"Oh, come now!" I said, hopping onto the couch next to Watson, and snatching Holmes's bow before he could anticipate it. "I think that's a bit harsh, don't you Watson?" Watson continued the scenario by shaking his head in playfulness

"Certainly not. It was nothing less than retched."

I laughed humorously, standing up and reaching out for the violin. Holmes pressed it tightly to his chest. "I just want to show you how a_ true_ violinist sounds," I said, reaching out further for the violin. Mind you, I'd never touched a violin before in my entire life, but I couldn't recall why I hadn't and I wanted to give it a whirl. Holmes very slowly handed me the violin which I awkwardly placed under my chin. "Now," I said, slyly grinning at them. "Prepare yourselves, gentlemen, for a masterpeice." I'm not sure where my inhibitions were, but they were entirely gone by this point. Lounging around with them after a long day made me very calm and outgoing, even. Had I ever been called that before?

Holmes joined Watson on the couch, as both of them applauded enthusiastically. Carefully and delicately, doing my best to look professional about it, I placed the bow on the violin. The two of them grew silent, as I moved it across a string, a single note erupting. I had no idea of what else to do with a violin, so I removed it from my chin and took a large bow. Watson stood up, applauding like mad. I continued to bow, laughing the entire time through. "Don't you see? I just knew you would love it! They say I'm the next Mozart!" I laughed, batting my eyelashes. Holmes stood up, snatching his violin with a sneer.

"So much talent should not be wasted by playing," he said, setting the violin down and walking over to his desk. I fell back on the couch in contentment as Watson and I both let out a tranquil sigh. Both of our stomachs were sore from laughing. "Miss Adkins," Holmes said, taking me off guard. I looked up at him apprehensively. "You were supposed to leave two hours ago, it seems."

"Yes, actually," I said timidly. "I'm sorry- we were just talking about the case, and I was..." I wanted to say 'having more fun that I could ever remember' but I held my tongue. "... I lost track of time."

He raised his brows in surprise. "There's no issues Miss Adkins, I was just concerned for your sake of missing out on something," he said, spinning his chair around.

I nodded in appreciation. "Thank you for your concern." I looked over at a clock and grumbled in disappointment to realize that I probably should be heading back. If my mother wasn't home yet she would expect me to be waiting there for her whenever she arrived. "I probably should be going." Their eyes followed me as I tossed on my coat. "You two gentlemen sure know how to entertain someone not fond of being entertained."

"Glad to hear we could be of service," Watson said, inclining his head. "It comes naturally with you." I blushed a bit, before nodding in appreciation for his compliments.

"Before you go," Holmes said. "I want you to arrive here on time tomorrow morning as usual, but dressed in something casual. And I also wish for you to recite to me this moment what it is we've exposed so far." He paused for a moment. "Not to cause anguish, but simply to see how well your ear was tuned."

I understood: detective training. Facts needed to be laid out, easy for the eye and ears to detect, and I was the one to do it. I coughed, presenting each fact as I recalled them.

Point A. The victim's name was Emily Goodman. She was my neighbor, very appealing, and quite young.

Point B. Emily Goodman was mentally disturbed, for lack of better words- with her shorting of socializing and inability to create relationships.

Point C. Emily Goodman was murdered from an underground piping passage into her home, and afterwards the murderer had run back out of it, down the street and kissed her door six times wearing lipstick.

Point D. The murderer chewed tobacco.

Point E. Jacob Irons was a botanist (possible tobacco chewer, must investigate further) who fell madly in love with Emily Goodman with just one look. Perhaps love at first sight _was _possible.

Point F. Susan Shore was Emily's doctor- the only person Emily let inside her house.

After I was done listing them off neatly one by one, Holmes nodded his head in approval. "You're forgetting that Susan Shore might possibly be attracted to her own gender," he reminded me as I nodded, recalling that small detail. I didn't find why it mattered, but I suppose every detail mattered while trying to solve a murder. "Other than that, be here tomorrow morning."

I nodded, but before I left, I made sure to make certain I wasn't forgetting something. "Is there anything else I can get for you Mr. Holmes?" He glanced at me curiously, as though awaiting something. "I mean... Sherlock Holmes," I remembered, correcting myself.

He shook his head and we said our goodbyes. As I left the room, my tired eyes told me I was in need of a long sleep, though inside I just wanted to stay with them.

~.~.~.~.~.~

I had been running. My breathing was short, and my dress was stained with sweat. In fact, my body was sweating more than I could remember ever sweating before. I looked up to the sky, but saw no sun. I saw only the large grey eye of a moon staring down at me. I stared up at it, entranced by its radiant beauty. The longer I looked the smaller it became. Afraid of the moon's disappearance, I outstretched my arms towards it, hoping it would come back to me.

It stopped shrinking suddenly and was then about the size of an eye, suspended high in the sky. As though from nowhere another moon appeared next to it just as small and just as grey. A face suddenly formed from it, the moons being replaced as real eyes. My heart beat began to pick up as I noticed the face forming above me was Jacob. I saw his mouth open and close, growing larger and larger as I heard him speak inside my head.

"_I didn't kill her Renadale… I didn't kill her…" _His face was getting bigger and seemingly coming straight at me. I tried to run away from the frightening image, but the more I tried the more frozen my feet became. I pulled and tugged at them, but they wouldn't budge. I looked up only to see Jacob's face right in front of mine. I opened my mouth to let out a scream, but nothing came out. Instead Jacob's eyes looked behind me with terror in their pupils.

"_Murderer…"_ He whispered, his voice buzzing through my head. _"Murderer…" _In a flash, his face disappeared from my view and I found myself alone on the street. Everything was utterly quiet. My breathing was still uneven. My heart beat was matched it. I found myself wanting to see what Jacob was looking at behind me, but my feet were still glued forward.

_Chiiiiing._

My green eyes grew wide with terror. It was the sound of a knife running against another. Frantically, I began to shout and kick, trying my hardest to pull my legs off the ground. I heard footsteps and _ching_s coming closer and closer to me. I could feel tears running down my eyes, but as I watched them fall, they only turned to flames around me.

I heard one last sharpening of a knife, before…

"_No!"_ I screamed loudly, shooting up in a cold sweat in my bed. My mother suddenly burst through my door with a candle in her wrinkled hand. Her eyes were wide and scared as she rushed over to my bedside, grabbing my head and holding it close to her chest. I felt real tears running down my face, thankful when I cried that no fire was forming from them.

"Shush," my mother whispered, her gentle hands running through my matted hair. "You've just had a nightmare, that's all my dearest." I continued to cry into her. I didn't understand it; I barely had nightmares and none ever pertained to my life. Jacob's eyes had been so clear that I felt like I could have reached out and touched him. The noise of the knives… I could still hear and see it all even though I was wide awake. "Your father used to get them terribly," my mother whispered. "Night terrors he called them. I was always there for him and of course for you my dear."

My fists clutched at her night dress, not wanting to let her go. "I… just don't understand it," I mumbled through a watery face. "I never get nightmares."

"Sure you do," my mother said, sitting me upright so I could look her straight in the eye. "Everyone gets nightmares, Renadale. You just don't remember them. Some of them are more realistic than others and make you more fearful." She patted my head before giving me a comforting smile. "You just had a bit of a fright, that's all."

I wanted to believe her. I did. However, something deep inside me told me this was not the last of them. Something told me inside my mind, almost like a whisper of someone I didn't recognize, that this was only the beginning.

~.~.~.~.~

**The next morning, before Renadale arrived at work.**

Holmes sat opposite Lestrade in the inspector's room. His scraggly chin rested in his hands, not afraid to hide his boredom and lack of enthusiasm whenever he was with the inspector. However, Lestrade was ready to get down to business. "You're telling me you _don't _think it's this Jacob?" Holmes nodded mechanically. "Yet you want my force to keep an eye out on him and waste their time?"

Holmes frowned suddenly, shooting up from his chair. "I've made it known to you; your lack of certainty in what you do and yet you still do not pick up on the most obvious of reasons for your being here," he said quickly and confusingly as Lestrade looked at him, bewildered. "Everyone is a suspect and unless you want to be blamed for letting the murderer go I would suggest a man or two to keep a watchful eye on the boy."

Lestrade looked at him through narrowed eyes. "I don't know why I listen to you Holmes or why I have any trust in you when cannot find it in me, but I'll agree to it."

"I have lack of conviction in you, inspector, simply because your methods are often unconstructive. However, take my word. You are the best officer I have ever met." He shot Holmes a hesitant glare with a 'thank you' hidden somewhere behind it. Lestrade was a man of great intelligence. He was respected all throughout London for his accomplishments in the crime area. Holmes knew of everyone's admiration. He just knew more about crimes than the common folk and therefore made his judgements harsher.

"Yes, well, that's beside the point of why you're _here_, Holmes," Lestrade grumbled, sitting back down at his large oak desk. He flipped through some papers before finally pulling out Emily Goodman's medical files. "You said you wish to meet her doctor?"

"Accurate."

"His name?"

"Dr. Susan Shore."

"_Her _name," Lestrade corrected himself. He paused for a moment, inquiringly gazing up at the detective who was merely sitting uninterested and picking dirt from beneath his nails. "Did you say Dr. Susan Shore?"

Holmes looked unnervingly around the room. "Did you call upon someone else to meet with you?"

"I'll dismiss your superfluous comment," Lestrade puffed angrily while looking back down at the files. "If you hold your tongue for once, Holmes, perhaps you would gain information sooner."

"Tongues are muscles that manipulate foods for chewing and swallowing," Holmes said breezily. "It is covered in papillae and taste buds; therefore I see no reason to be grasping it."

Lestrade glared at him, about ready to smack him. Holmes simply smiled, not purposely planning on being hasty. "On the previous note, I happen to personally _know_ Susan Shore. My mother's friend is her mother. She's a very nice woman although a bit different in her interests." There was an uncomfortable silence between the two before Lestrade continued. "No one is terribly certain of it, but it is often implied because of her rejection towards men."

Holmes shot the inspector a quick smirk. "Personal experiences?"

The police man's face turned rosy as he frantically began piling papers into piles, trying to repose himself. "Certainly _not_, Holmes," he cursed beneath his breath. "You have my permission to cross-examine her, but she is a pleasant woman so try not to make her feel dissimilar, yes?"

"When I myself feel dissimilar I find the rest of the word otherwise."

"Splendid, then I suppose we're done here."

Holmes tipped his (or rather a drunk's which he had stolen some cases ago) politely towards the detective who ignored the gesture by continuing to organize his files. Holmes reaching for the doorknob, when Lestrade stopped him in his tracks. "…Might I inquire as to who the woman was with you a couple of days ago?"

"Renadale Adkins," Holmes said, spinning around. "My..." Holmes struggled for a moment. "Maid."

Lestrade curiously raised a brow. "She seemed levelheaded. You can't fool me, however. She's clearly with you on the case. A pity she has the misfortune to work with you, but otherwise give her my best wishes." Holmes looked a bit offended by the comment, but brushed if off. Lestrade noticed a hint of self consciousness and stopped him sort once more. "If she's here now and obviously you've taken a liking to her... I'm curious. What ever happened Irene?"

Holmes face sunk, his eyes drooping a bit in remembrance. "Miss Adler is not highly fondled," he mumbled briefly, quickly leaving before more questions could be asked.

Lestrade grunted in amusement. _Surely he's not in love with the Adler woman, but seemingly can't make up his mind about his emotions towards the new one. _Lestrade smiled to himself, enjoying the feeling of deduction. _Funny. A detective who can't make up his mind._


	10. Bloody Lips

**YAY! Reviews! I never officially declared that I had over 100 THANKS TO YOU GUYS! You guys seriously rock my world, and sorry it took a couple days to update this- Twelfth Night is eating up my life and I probably won't be able to update at ALL next week! I have rehearsal from 3 to 9 and I go to sleep at 10 on school days, so… let's cross our fingers and pretend I have time to squeeze it in! I'll try my hardest!**

**Jenneny- No way Jose! No Mary Sue's here. Renadale is not, and shall never be psychic. That would be weird. So no worries here!**

**~mistro**

**~.~.~.~.~.~**

As I arrived to work early and still on time I was only greeted by Watson who, like me, did not very well know where Holmes was. This was met with a heavy sigh from a girl who would have liked to have slept in longer if she had the opportunity. Watson assured me that he would be here soon enough however and we waited for him patiently in his room.

"You know, I've never really had the chance to look around here," Watson said, flipping open some books. "I mean when he's here he's not too fond of me touching anything. It's like he has everything in the proper place."

I laughed, nodding. "An organized mess, if you will." I watched carefully as Watson picked up a quill pen. He turned towards me with a smirk. "I wouldn't touch that if I were you," I warned, already knowing his intentions. "Holmes will notice."

Watson shrugged, gently placing the pen on a stool across the room. We both eyed it peculiarly. "The funny thing is... he doesn't use that pen," Watson mumbled. I couldn't help but smile. He certainly knew his friend well. "Of course he would notice it was not in the right spot if he used it often, but he doesn't." We both took a sigh in unison, thinking of our strange friend. "He shall notice. I assure you."

Before either of us could get another word out, the door burst open as a jumpy Holmes came rushing in the room. He didn't even look at us, but he knew we were there. He simply went over by his desk and wrote a few things down before completely freezing. "Watson?" He asked peculiarly. "Why did you move my pen?"

Though he expected that to happen, Watson was still shocked. "How could you even notice?"

With a disapproving frown, Holmes walked over and snatched the pen from the chair. "You should not mess with my writing utensils Watson," he said, placing it exactly where it was before. "It would seem you only did this to amuse yourself. I keep this pen here for a specific reason. When the sun hits the metal at the bottom of the pen at a certain time in the afternoon it reflects onto _that _wall," he said, pointing to the wall opposite him. "And there a reflection lands on that map; a perfect golden ring over London."

"Why do you do that?" I asked remarkably.

He shrugged. "I just happen to akin to it." Watson and I both looked over at one another with exasperated shrugs. At least he had personality. "In any case, that's not why I'm here. Sorry to keep you waiting, but I was retrieving the address of Dr. Shore." Proudly, he waved a piece of parchment above his head. "Therefore, I say we take our leave."

Watson nodded, heading over to Holmes. I followed in suit. As we headed downstairs and out the door I couldn't help but feel rather admired. It was like I was a real detective. I was actually doing something to help the greater good; and none of it involved any of my silly inventions. I was happy then, but that was because I didn't know what I had gotten myself into.

~.~.~.~.~.~

We were waiting outside of Dr. Shore's office. It was located in her apartment and she even had a secretary outside the door. We'd been there for a few minutes now and the woman still wouldn't let us through. "I already told you," she said softly, trying her best to keep calm. "Doctor Shore is not seeing _anyone_ else until she is finished with her patient."

"How long will she take?" I asked. The girl puffed out her cheeks in anger. I had already asked her this question numerous times, but I wanted to exasperate her as much as I could in hopes that we would drive her mad and she would have to go in and get Dr. Shore to silence us.

"Just… hold on one moment, please!" She snapped as she rushed into the room and slammed the door behind her. The three of us amusingly smiled towards one another, happy to see that bothering her had worked. After a minute or two she came out with a heavy sigh. "Dr. Shore will _not _take anyone else right now. You will have to come back _later_."

I was about to go and bother her some more, but Holmes raised a quick hand to stop me. "Well enough," he said, inclining his head towards the girl who did nothing but shoot him a dark glare. "I thank you for your tolerance." I felt Holmes snatch my arm and Watson's as well, taking us both back outside.

"What was that for?" Watson chuckled. "We could have gotten in there eventually!"

"It's alright," Holmes reassured, leading us to the back of the building. "We're still getting in. Follow my lead and be weary of your step, Watson. We both know how poor your ankles are."

Behind the house was a small alley. A few back enterances to resteraunts and stores were opened as men set out their trash and empty crates. A delivery man had just finished setting down crates of fresh fruits before riding off in his carriage. Holmes quickly jumped on top of the apple crates which were piled onto one another. The owner of the store spotted him and began to shout and fuss, demanding Holmes come down. But it didn't take long for Holmes to quickly land in front of a window on the second floor and pull it open. "It's really shouldn't be a problem!" He shouted down to the shop keeper. "I shall be off your crates in a moment's time." The whole time he was speaking, he was pulling himself up through the window and before his sentence ended he was already inside.

There was a sudden scream erupting from the window. It was that of a woman's and we could hear Holmes trying to calm her down when we suddenly heard glass break. "Well, that's a sign that he'll be needing us!" Watson said, quickly hopping onto the crates and up through the window. I smirked in amusement while the apple vendor continued to shout and flail. Lucky for us her office was on the second floor and before the man could take his crates, away... "I'm so sorry!" I shouted, hauling myself on top. I hoped onto them and joined my two friends in the room as swiftly as I could with much attempt not to trip on my dress.

"There are madmen in this town!" I heard Dr. Shore screech as I climbed in through the window. "Oh, and even madwomen, how _marvelous_!" She scoffed, tossing her hands in the air. I found the sentence ironic, considering that was her line of profession. Furiously, she pointed in Holmes direction. "I don't need you here, detective. I have nothing to say to you about my previous patient except that she is _gone._"

"Which is why we're here," Holmes said, stepping towards her. "We're trying to figure out why that is exactly and, you being a suitable candidate for questioning, we simply had to give it a shot." I looked over at the patient in the room. A young girl with large blue eyes and short, cropped blonde hair was staring at us without blinking. Her mouth was open with her brows creased as though she didn't understand what was happening. Her hands were shaking in her lap uncontrollably. Holmes noticed her too. There was an evident stab of regret crossing his face. "Perhaps it would be best if we returned later."

"Yes," Dr. Shore said, shoving us towards the door. "Come back this evening around five. I will be here then and I will answer your questions truthfully." She paused a moment, looking towards the floor. Her eyes were rimmed with darkness and her face seemed pale. "Emily was a sweet girl. She didn't deserve to die. Her mother died and it left her heart broken and it took over her mind. Whoever killed her did not know her. It wasn't fair to treat her like that." We were all silent for a moment before Dr. Shore spoke again. "Use the door next time however, will you?"

~.~.~.~.~

In the mean time, Holmes could not settle down. His mind was racing and he couldn't stop shouting out possibilities to me and Watson. "Perhaps Dr. Shore and Jacob were afflicted with one another and it was a group effort," he mumbled to himself, pacing back and forth.

Annoyed with having to listen to all of this, Watson shouted towards him, trying to add another suggestion in his mind. "Or, perhaps she was just murdered? People in London are killed because they're _drunk_, Holmes."

Holmes looked at him with a stare of utter disbelief. "That is the most absurd reason you have ever noted, Watson."

"How about you and I go and get a paper, eh?" I said to Holmes. Watson was getting stressed and tired; I figured we'd give him some space to breathe. "You get it daily, but it seems it's slipped your mind at this particular moment. You should go with me," I suggested. "In case I decided to run away with Henry."

Holmes shot me a quick smirk before opening the door for me. "That is not on my list of things I wish to happen, Miss Adkins."

We both made our way out to the street corner, where Henry stood shouting with papers raised above his head. He grinned towards us as we approached, but before he could say hello, I jumped in. "Any more murders in the news?" The question was one of paranoia. I was just hoping there wouldn't be a trend forming.

"Oh, I heard about that one murder!" Henry said, shaking his red head sadly. "Just the thought of any young girl getting killed bothers me." I nodded in agreement while Holmes stared off into space, thinking. "You know," Henry continued. "I bet all those kisses are from a jealous admirer."

"In actuality, that's most likely not the case," I explained. "She hardly left her home. We considered it, however."

A look of sadness appeared on the plump man's face as he handed Holmes another newspaper. "You know, they say her doctor might be a suspect. Apparently she was the only one allowed inside her house and she knew her best. If I were a detective, I would certainly use those details."

"And we shall, Henry," Holmes said, coming out of his daze. He patted the stout man on the back, rolling his newspaper in his hands. "Dr. Shore is most certainly on our list of possible criminals, but we must wait to speak with her on that matter." Henry was about to say something, but Holmes interrupted him, his voice raising and his face becoming more red. "Yet, that may give her a very well decent amount to hide whatever there is to hide between her and-"

I gently placed my hand on his hand, which was now tightly gripping the newspaper. He stopped talking suddenly, looking over at me with surprise. I offered him a smile. "You're getting upset again."

Henry chuckled, nodding. "I like your pretty friend. Unlike you Holmes, she points out the obvious."

~.~.~.~.~

It was five in the evening and once again we were waiting outside of Dr. Shore's apartment door. "No light came from her window," I stated, a bit hesitantly. "Perhaps she's out." As much as I wanted to solve this case, I didn't want to keep bothering people about it. If Dr. Shore was busy then we shouldn't intrude.

"We must check," Holmes said walking up to the door to the apartment and opening it up. Watson and I peeked our heads in. No lights came from any of the rooms. "Eerie," Holmes said, shoving his pipe in his mouth. "Come, come."

Watson and I stood where we were, both a bit scared to go any further. "Something doesn't feel right," I admitted when Holmes paused to look back at us.

"You're both being terribly foolish," he said, making his way up inside "If you shall not help then I suggest you leave now rather than making me wait for you." He disappeared from view, turning a corner. We both sighed heavily, chasing after him. Hesitancy would have to be ignored for the case.

We turned the corner to find Holmes stopped in his tracks as the door to Dr. Shore's room was open. "Miss Adkins, I suggest you stay where you are." My heart skipped a beat. I knew something was wrong, but I wasn't going to be shoved out of it because I was a woman.

Quickly I rushed past him, entering the room. My eyes were fixed to a sight in the corner of the room and I felt everything around me and inside of me stop. It was the body of the beautiful young doctor, her raven curls matching my own, covering her bloody lip as the rest of her blood spilled down her head. I was about to scream, but was too shocked to do so. I could feel my chin quivering, when I felt a soft body press themselves to me. Without thinking, I gripped their coat jacket with my fists, trying to catch my breath as tears started to fall. A gentle hand patted my head, seemingly not sure of what to do with me. "Come on Holmes," I heard Watson say softly. "Let's just leave."

"Wait," Holmes whispered, gently taking me off of him. "No, no, no, no..." His voice was anxious and whispered. He rushed back downstairs and I felt even more afraid without him, knowing that her lifeless body lay behind me. A moment later we heard him call our names. "Those weren't there when we got here," Holmes said as we came down, pointing to kiss marks on the door. I counted them quickly. There were only 6 this time. My knees were shaking; my whole body was shaking, but Watson gripped me by the shoulders to settle my nerves.

"It'll be alright Renadale, it'll be alright." I heard him whisper harshly to Holmes. "They were just here Holmes. We have to go find them. You go, I'll stay with Renadale."

"No!" I shouted, shoving him off of me. "We'll all go! I'm here to help."

Holmes looked from Watson to me, and back again. "Agreed. We must not waste precious time on something that is slipping away." Without another word, his feet took off from the steps and lead us to the nearest alley way. We all paused as we watched a large figure stop towards the end, glance back at us and take off once more. Holmes's eyes grew wide as he darted off towards the man in a powerful run.

"Holmes!" Watson said, sprinting after him. I stood in confusion, not taking in the situation for even a moment. Once I realized what was happening; that all of this was real and not a nightmare, I took off running. I ran down numerous alley ways, trying to pretend like I knew where I was going when I could have lost Holmes and Watson ages ago.

I stopped running, trying to catch my breath. Everything was spinning. I was lost and no one was with me. In fact, no one was there. That was uncommon anywhere in London. But I had to keep running. I wasn't just going to stop because I couldn't find them. So, I took off and ran down another alley way, panting the entire time. Running in thin boots and a dress was something that was not easy to do. I found myself congratulating myself on getting this far, when I had to stop at the end of an alley way and catch my breath for a minute. I heard a loud clatter come from the shop next to me; a blacksmith shop. "Easy now gentlemen," I heard a familiar brooding voice say. _Holmes, _I realized, and instantly ran inside.

Though witty, quick and intelligent, my companions were ones who often got themselves into a bit of a mess. I groaned in aggravation as I walked in on the scene of two extremely large men with Watson and Holmes in their grips, a knife up to both of their necks. A third stood, eyeing me curiously from the corner of the room. "Hello there," the man holding Holmes said towards me, in a thick Russian accent. "You must be Renadale."

I tried my hardest to put on a tough face, but I could tell it wasn't working because the man was giving me strange looks. "Who points it out?"

"That's none of your business," he spat angrily, tightening his grip on Holmes. "Your two little friends here were whispering about where you were, but now that they've found you it looks like the three of us gentlemen have got a little more than we wanted." He flashed me a yellow grin as I audibly winced in disgust. "Not in a bad way, neither."

Even with Holmes and Watson on my side, I didn't know how we would make our way out of this one. Noting the strong flirtation and threat from the man of keeping me, my mind was crossing out all possible ways to get rid of them until it came down to one. It was one I wasn't too fond of either, but if it could save them, it would have to do. "Come now," I said softly, slipping out of my jacket. All men in the room looked at me in confusion, including Watson and Holmes who probably didn't have a clue what was happening. "There really doesn't need to be any… problems here, does there?" I said, laughing nervously. Slowly, I made my way closer towards the man. My whole body was shaking, but I had no other plan whatsoever. He looked down at me slowly, his face in shock. "How about you just let me friends go… and I'll give you something in return." The words made me cringe in disgust. I wasn't even good at talking to men, let alone trying to seduce them. Especially the three hideous ones I was going for at the moment.

I heard someone start kicking behind me. I spun around to see Watson flailing madly. "Renadale, are you ins-" The man holding him quickly covered his mouth with a firm hand.

"You're saying if we let your mangy, snooping friends go... _you'll_ stay with us?" Apparently this man wasn't the brightest of fellows. I nodded slowly, trying my best to give a smile. He laughed a loud, booming laugh. Holmes shifted uncomfortably in his arms, his face tight. He looked at me in desperation, but I shook my head towards him as if to warn him not to do anything stupid. In my eyes, I spoke to him. _Wait for the oportune momnent. _"Do you hear that fellows? The lady says she'll stay with us, and no problem is being made. What do you say?"

While the three of them laughed, I felt a long metal rod behind my back. It was hot from the fire place next to it. I tightened my grip on it, ready for use if need be. "Well then." Both him and the other man let go of Watson and Holmes. "It looks like you've got yourself into some trouble, girly."

Winking, I leaned in towards his ear. "Fantastic," I whispered, before swinging my arm over my head and bringing the rod down upon his skull. The man fell over with a crack; knocked out instantly. My eyes grew wide. I frantically looked over at Watson and Holmes who were looking down at the man with shock. "I wasn't planning on that!" I cried desperately as the other two men charged towards the others.

"Watson, it's time we start thinking again!" Holmes shouted, quickly dodging them. Watson however, wasn't quick enough, as Holmes and I watched him get knocked to the ground. Without thinking, I picked up another hot rod and continuously hit the man on the back with it. Holmes stood, a bit bewildered as Watson and I continued fighting.

"You could be a little more _useful_, couldn't you Holmes?" Watson shouted, punching the man again and dodging him quickly. Holmes eyes caught sight of something in the back corner, a smile spreading across his face. I followed his direction, seeing him glancing at a trip hammer.

I heard the man in front of me shout in anger as his fist came near hitting the side of my face. I jumped out of the way, quickly climbing on top of a table. "What are you going to do now, plum?" The man laughed, looking up at me with bemusement. I glanced over to my side, spotting the knives the men were holding earlier. Without thinking, I picked one up and slammed it into his shoulder. I felt it cut threw his skin and in disgust I let go. He fell towards the ground in pain, whimpering as he yanked it out.

I hopped down beside him, wincing a bit at all the blood. "Terribly sorry," I mumbled, gently patting him on the shoulder before rushing off to help Watson. Turns out, Holmes was taking care of everything quite fine.

His rough hands quickly hit the man's stomach, causing the man to wheeze. With brutal force and without any time for the man to recover, Holmes hit him square in the throat, without a moment for him to think as he slammed his fists against the sides of the man's head. The man fell over weakly with a groan. I gasped in amazement. "When did you learn to fight like that?"

"When there is nothing else to do."

"It may have worked in the ring," a voice from the corner rang out. "But it isn't going to work here!" I recognized the Russian accent quickly and sprinted out of the way before he could grab me. Luckily for me, he was going towards Holmes. I wanted to run out and help him, but my feet were glued to the spot in fear. _Watson! _I suddenly recalled, spinning around to find the doctor. He himself was knocked out cold on the ground.

I rushed over to him as Holmes and the Russian fought things out. I turned back to them, tired of listening to the punches and watching him get injured. I tried my best to wake up Watson, but he wouldn't budge. "Wake up!" I groaned, shoving him even harder.

In the midst of everything going on through my mind I was stopped short by a loud scream. Turning around, I saw Holmes shove the man's arm under a trip hammer, and pulling it down, cracking his arm in two. I shrieked in horror, burying my face into the unconscious doctor's chest. The Russian man screamed along with me, falling to the ground in a pathetic cry. Holmes quickly rushed over towards us, taking the doctor in his arms. "I would carry you as well Miss Adkins," he said as I tried to listen past my whimpering. "Yet, you will have to bear it and walk with me."

I nodded weakly, unable to get the cracking out of my head. It was so loud, so quick and so unforgiving. My own arm was starting to hurt as I imagined the pain of it. "Come, we must go quickly," he whispered softly towards me, gently placing a hand on my back and leading me out.

~.~.~.~.~

A carriage picked us up to take us back to Baker street. I sat opposite Watson, whose head was slumped on Holmes's shoulder. He was unconscious, Holmes was weak, and I couldn't stop rubbing my arm. I knew Holmes was watching me, feeling a bit sorry, but I didn't feel like discussing it. "Miss Adkins-" He started, but I quickly cut him off.

"I don't wish to talk about it."

"I apologize," he mumbled, his eyes glued to my face. I could feel them burning into me... those huge brown orbs of his, but I couldn't find the strength to face them.

"Apologize?" I laughed weakly. "You saved us. What could you possibly be apologizing for?" Truthfully, I didn't want him to apologize at all. He had no reason to apologize when he had been nothing but good to me. I was just battling my own conscience about the entire situation.

"I feel as though I am wasting your time," he said. This time I looked at him while he looked away. His bottom lip was cut, and blood marked his cheek. His hair was untamed and I desperately wanted to reach out and smooth it as he had done for me. I pushed the thought away, my cheeks growing warm. "Not to say for certain, but surely your mind is reconciling with itself about whether or not you should stay, of course not in London but rather on the-"

"I won't leave." His gaze deepened with surprise. "As nervous as I'm getting... I-I will not leave." I made up my mind before I even knew I had done it. Holmes and I both finally looked at one another, both of us tired and glum looking. He gave me a small smile and nodded before giving Watson a pat on the back.

"Well on that note, we have two doctors knocked down this evening." We looked over at one another in sadness, recalling Dr. Shore. "However, one of them won't be waking up."


	11. False Handcuffs & False Fears

**You guys rock my world! (: Every morning I wake up to see your comments. I don't know what I would do without you, honestly. So please, keep reviewing and keep nagging me to get things right, because I do it all for you! (And to crave my Sherlock Holmes love.)**

**I suppose I was just entranced by RDJ's brown ones in the film, so since I've already mentioned the fact that they're brown several times, I shall keep them brown! Apologizes if that bothers anyone. You can pretend they're grey, if you like. :P **

**~mistro**

~.~.~.~.~

Watson was dabbing a wet cloth to his head, trying to regain his composure. We were all upstairs in his room this time so he could rest upon his own bed. It was neat and comfortable, but the silence between us was troublesome. I quietly twisted the loose strings from my sleeves. Holmes stared off into space, drumming his fingers upon the arm rest of the chair. No one wanted to speak. If one of us would, it would all end up in one realization. We had no lead.

"This is hopeless," Watson grumbled, breaking the silence. Holmes and I brought our attention to him, both of us frowning scornfully. "I don't wish to be the one who brings it up, but without Shore, we've lost all possible leads."

"What about Jacob?" I asked, though I didn't want him to be considered. Something struck me about him. He was off, that was obvious, but I couldn't see him being guilty.

Holmes shook his head. "Lestrade had men watching him carefully. He wouldn't have been able to have left their grips. Well, he could have, knowing the Scotland Yard... However, those were my instructions." I sighed heavily, not even taking that fact into consideration. Watson was absolutely right. At least, he seemed to be until Holmes pulled out a small piece of paper from his pocket. I was beginning to wonder how many he had in there.

"Where did you get that?" Watson said, crawling off the bed and coming over to look at it. Holmes showed it to him without emotion. I glanced over as well to look at the little scrap of paper. It said; 'London Parliament' on it and below it was a drawing of a wing colored in red. "Is there any significance to it?" Watson asked bluntly.

"I retrieved this from the Russian's pocket," he said, shoving it back into his coat. "Clearly, whatever the killer is after has to relate to parliament."

My mind was boggled with the idea of such a powerful force having anything to do with the case. "You don't think Parliament's involved do you?" I asked hesitantly, not liking the idea. Surely that was something of an impracticable presumption... wasn't it? Or was I actually tangled up in something that serious?

"No," Watson spoke for him, laughing and shaking his head. "Of course not, that's outrageous. Blackwood already tried that." Watson slowly glanced down at Holmes who showed no sign of agreement. "Holmes, you can't _seriously_ be considering this?"

"Actually Watson, I am." He stood up and locked in our gazes. "Why shouldn't it? Yes, it's an astounding possibility. Whatever the case is... parliament has something to do with it and in these times you never know if it is or is not the least suspected thing."

Watson sunk in the chair and dabbed his head with the rag again in vexation. "You'd have to be out of your right _mind, _to believe that. In any case, parliament might be a victim rather than the actual murderer themselves."

I had to agree with Watson on that matter. What Holmes was suggesting did seem a bit brash. Parliament was there to protect London... no matter how terrible a hellhole it was becoming. Holmes might have had a point though and him being my boss I would at least try and back him up somewhat. It was the most I could do since, without proper training, I still felt like I didn't fit into the detective persona just yet. "Perhaps it's only one person in parliament," I suggested, shrugging. "There are corrupt people in London. It could very easily just be _one_ of them."

"That's plausible," Watson mumbled, sighing heavily. "But it might just be a piece of paper, Holmes. It might not mean _anything_."

"You ought to stop thinking like that Watson," he replied quickly. "If your mind set becomes that way I will find you mightily pitiable partner."

A knock at the door took us all out of our thoughts. I stood up quickly to go and get it, pulling open the door to find a rather frail old man and two officers glaring at me. I stood speechless, not having any idea who they were. "That's the woman!" The old man shouted, accusingly pointing a finger at me. "There were two other with her too, both snooping detectives! I was standing outside of my shop, watching them the entire time!"

My first instinct was to slam the door in the face. I knew that was not the best option and decided to carefully pull back the door to let them inside. It was clearly the blacksmith. "There they are!" He growled, pointing to both Watson and Holmes who like me stood baffled. "Those three damaged my blacksmith shop and broke my trip hammer!"

All of our faces dropped. We hadn't even thought about what the owner would say. My mother was going to kill me. That would certainly be an easy case to solve. "Yes, and we're all terribly sorry about that," Holmes said kindly, but the man jumped on his words again.

"You three destroyed my property! Those hammers are expensive!" He spun around, facing the cops who looked annoyed with the elder. "Arrest them!" He flailed. "I demand them to be arrested for damage to property!"

"We can resolve this matter with pay, yes?"

"You don't have nearly enough to pay for a trip hammer, Holmes," Watson whispered under his breath. "You'd best stop talking before we all go in-" The two police man said nothing as they stepped closer. With a firm tug of the men's arms, they instantly slammed handcuffs around their wrists. Watson and Holmes made no struggle, but instead stared down at their imprisonment with bewilderment. I felt my mouth drop in equal shock. "Handcuffs? This isn't necessary," he stuttered. "I'm a doctor!"

I felt someone tightly grab my wrist, snapping a pair onto me as well. "I beg your pardon!" I shouted, ripping my hands away from him. I think it was the first I had shouted in a long time and the fact that it was towards an officer probably didn't help things in my respect. "We didn't do anything wrong, we were trying to stop ourselves from being killed!"

The police man shrugged, nudging me towards the door. "I'm afraid you'll have to talk all of this over with Inspector Lestrade." I heard Holmes groan in amusement as we were all lead out of the house and into separate carriages like we were the dangerous criminals.

I sat across in annoyance from a young police man who eyed me peculiarly. His hair was sticking out from beneath his hat; slick and black. Something about his blue eyes calmed me, but I was still hot with anger. "I believe you, you know," he said, giving me a slight smile. I couldn't allow myself to return the gesture. "We're just performing our duty."

I scoffed and turned towards the window. "I understand perfectly."

He frowned a bit, looking towards the floor. I hadn't meant to snap at him, but with lack of sleep and lack of food, I was starting to get coopered with everything that was happening. Ever since I had gotten that job my life was spinning out of control. I was beginning to miss the solitude of my books and room. "I really do believe you though," he mentioned one more time. This time I met him with a small nod as I began to cool down. "Both of those murders are terrible. Wait until the news of that woman doctor hits the papers tomorrow. The city will be in a stir. If it weren't for those kisses people wouldn't have noticed a trend." The young man shuddered. "It's all rather frightening."

"Yes, but I wouldn't worry if I were you," I reassured. "I'm sure the case will be solved in little time." Considering we had no lead, I doubted that. I wasn't one who had a knack for certainty, but I tried to make it sound like I did. In a way it comforted me even though I knew I was lying to myself.

The man gave me a playful half smirk. He didn't believe me either. "So, do you like working with your friend Mr. Holmes?" I looked at him with hesitancy. He was in no place to call us friends. "All of London thinks he's a genius. Is it true? Or is it just rubbish?"

"He's more than a genius," I muttered as I watched buildings fade by. "He's possibly the greatest detective in the world." I had no idea if that was true, but I myself found him a marvel and others have said that he was the best there was, so I had to make it known.

"Even in handcuffs?" The man teased.

I nodded. "Even in handcuffs."

~.~.~.~.~

Lestrade nearly smiled when he saw us all walk into his office locked up. He quickly dignified himself, stepping up to Holmes. "Another mess you've gotten yourself into Holmes?"

"Just a minor setback," he reassured, inclining his head towards the inspector.

"Yes, well... as minor as it is I'm afraid I'm going to have to put you in for damage to other property." My heart leaped in my chest. I was going in jail? My mother was going to have a heart attack. Literally. The blacksmith owner grinned wildly however while the three of us shot him a nasty look. Did he somehow miss the large Russian men fighting us and holding us hostage? "Gentlemen," Lestrade spoke towards his partners. "Show Mr. Ford out please, and make sure the damages are replaced." The two police men led the wildly happy blacksmith owner out of the office.

Lestrade looked the three of us over very carefully in the small room. He then pulled out a key from his back pocket, unlocking all of our cuffs. Holmes smirked. "Do you often let criminals go?"

"They don't slip past me Holmes, but in your defense you were not the one causing the crime," he said, sitting down at his desk. "The three men who attacked you and possibly murdered Dr. Shore are in cells right now." I audibly sighed in relief. We were getting freedom, they were locked up, and my mother would manage to stay sane without me telling her a word.

"Then why did you bring us here?" Watson asked.

He sighed heavily, placing his hand to his forehead. "You have no lead now and without a lead this case will fail." Holmes quickly took the piece of paper from his pocket, sliding it across the desk to Lestrade. "What's this?" He questioned, holding it up towards his small eyes.

"It was in the head Russian's pocket," he said composedly. "It's a lead."

"Holmes, I don't even know what this red wing is_,_" He mumbled, sliding the paper back. "Whatever that drawing is has nothing to do with parliament unless there's something we don't know about yet."

I smiled. "That's exactly the point of having the paper, inspector."

Lestrade glanced at me curiously. "Do you know a lot about symbols, Miss Adkins?" I was surprised he knew my name, but I let that slide. Holmes and him must have talked about me. I couldn't decide if I was happy or nervous about that, but I had to hope that it was all decent things. The question rang out as though a bell in my head, recalling a minor fact that I hadn't told Watson and Holmes yet.

"Yes, sir."

The two of them both shot me astounded looks. "You decided not to tell us this because…" Holmes started.

"It slipped my mind," I confessed quickly. "My father often studied ancient medical practices; ones from Egyptian and the Mayan worlds. I found all of it fascinating... their inventions, their lives, and on that note their symbols. I'm no expert, but I picked up a few simple things."

Lestrade stood up, walking over to me. "And a wing? What could it mean?"

"Wings are obviously a symbol for flight." I recalled the particular symbol. "They often represent a form of heavenly nature. In Greek mythology, the wing is often partnered with the messenger God, Hermes. Wings were very powerful, to say the least."

The three men all went off into a daze as they were thinking things over in their heads. "Whoever the wing connects to wishes to have power then?" Watson questioned aloud. "Or perhaps the wing represents a messenger. A messenger _to_ someone powerful."

"Powerful?" Lestrade said. "Powerful, like parliament."

All of us lifted our heads up to look at one another in disbelief. A wide grin slid across my face. "Whoever drew that red wing wanted a message to be delivered to parliament." My mind was racing with ideas, and my heart was beating quickly along with it. The case that I wanted to get out of hours ago was suddenly exciting me more than ever. "Don't you see inspector? We do have a lead!"

"Yes," Holmes said swiftly. "We would have had it sooner, if you would have made your leisure pursuit known." I looked over at him with regret, but only found him smiling.

"Brilliant," Lestrade said breathlessly. "I won't cut you from the case just yet, Holmes. Find out the message and find out who it is sent from or else I'll leave my men to it."

We didn't have a personal lead, but we had something. Something small. My legs shook with excitement and I found myself wanting to run out the door right that second and announce to the world of our discoveries. However, I had to keep my lips sealed. Sealed as tight as my handcuffs.

~.~.~.~.~

"You come here to think?" I shouted over the whooping and punching in the boxing ring. Watson had left for the evening to go and visit Mary who had stopped back in town with her mother. Holmes invited me to come to the boxing ring; a place where he often came to think things through. Not having anything better to do, I said I'd tag along. I didn't feel quite right however with all of the violence when my stomach couldn't stand much of it to begin with. The crowded space, the noise... It was all making my head spin. I weakly grabbed the edge of a gambling table to try and regain my composure. "Isn't it a bit loud?"

"The noise is not a bothersome aspect. These men play the game for the game's own sake and by watching their movements and planned sequences it strikes a movement in my own mind to get my thoughts on track once again."

I blinked at him, not exactly following his words. "I heard you were very good at fighting yourself."

He smiled a bit, his eyes carefully watching the bruisers. "I suppose you can't call it fighting if you don't lose." I smiled to myself. He was proud of himself in some regards. _Good, _I thought. _You need some more pride in yourself. _"It is a statement of accuracy," he explained. "A man with a brain ought to have something in it."

"I suppose you're right, detective."

"On that note however I do not fight unless the boredom of a case not being presented is there." He paused, narrowing his eyes. "Or unless I am in the need of some antagonism releasing or weighty implement."

I smiled once more and focused my attention back onto the men. I watched as one sent a powerful punch to another man's cheek. Gritting my teeth, I pushed myself to keep watching it. People were afraid of spiders and rats, but I couldn't stand the sight of injuries. I wanted to change that. I was much too old to be afraid of something I would see the rest of my life. I often thought that about spiders and rats and my fear for them disappeared instantly. Maybe violence would be the same? I doubted it, but I would try. "You look very concerned Miss Adkins," Holmes said, eyeing my curiously.

I met his gaze with a nervous chuckle. "I'm afraid I'm not terribly fond of fighting as you are. To many it's a foolish fear and I'm trying my hardest to rid of it."

"Fear leaves you with protection," Holmes said quickly. "Though it is a bit nonsensical, your fear is not foolish, Miss Adkins. It's rather… cordial." A look surpassed his face as though he was shocked with his own words.

"Cordial?"

"You do not like to see others get harmed. In any moral sense that's a sign of a loving person." He slowly nodded his head. "More people should have your fear, Miss Adkins. It is more sensible than being afraid of a bat or a snake." His face paled before he spoke next. "... or a horse."

"A horse? Are you afraid of horses?"

He shut his eyes and ignored my question as his next statement nearly overlapped my previous. "The way I see it is that the world would have a much better population if it were so."

His attention was fixed on the fighters, but I couldn't seem to stop looking at him. I wanted him to look over at me so I could see the truth in his face. I wanted to see if what he really said was real. I wanted to know if his words were honest and true, unlike everyone else in London's. Did he really believe me to be such a 'cordial' person? I was flattered if it was so. "It's a wicked thing to lie, Renadale. I wouldn't do so to you." He still did not look towards me. He had answered my question however. I found myself hiding a smile, somewhat mystified by the fact that he had used my real name. A moment later he looked over at me with his face blank and emotionless. "There is always something entrancing about a compassionate face in evil times."

My smile was unable to be hidden now. "Is there anything else I can do for you this evening Mr. Holmes?" I routinely asked.

He himself began to smile, but turned his face to hide it. "Yes," he said. "Wait until the match is over to depart from me."


	12. Read all About It

**By all means, this is not the most exciting chapter, but it is moving the story line along. And there's more romance and excitement to come later on, so just hang tight… (: I'm so sorry it took me forever to respond! Next week is only going to be worse. IT'S TECH WEEK! But then guess what? The show is over and I can go back to updating **

**EVER**

**SINGLE**

**DAY**

**! And that's what makes you happy, and me happy too, so keep the reviews and ideas coming, and Renadale and Holmes and Watson will happily meet you again very soon. **

**~mistro**

**~.~.~.~.~**

I shut the door as I walked inside my house with a heavy sigh of contentment. My mother's curly head peeked through the kitchen. Her face lit up for a second before turning into a somber one. "You're more than an hour late!" She grumbled, setting down the plate she had been cleaning. I danced my way into the kitchen, unaffected by her harsh tone. "What? What's the matter with you?" She said, poking my arm. "You look as though you haven't got a care in the world."

I looked up at her, blinking in confusion. "Well, that's because I don't."

"Nonsense!" She cried, placing her hands on her hips. "You've got to take care of your poor old mother and her terrible nerves. You can't do these things to me, Renadale!" She mumbled something else before returning to her dishes. "For years I encourage you to go out more and once you do, you let the London airs get to your head. I knew it was a bad idea for you to be working with that... Sherlock Holmes."

I laughed whole heartedly. Quickly rushing over to my mother, I wrapped her in a tight embrace. "Mother, you know I could never forget about you." She angrily grumbled some more, not believing me. "You haven't any reason to be upset. I'm happier now and isn't that good?" The fact of the matter was, I was happy, but I was also terrified. I watched my heels every second to see if another shadow was gaining on them. And on top of that, I would never look at a trip hammer the same way again. Regardless, life was much more enthralling.

"Happier?" She patted my hands with affection. "What on Earth has made you happier than your mother's love?"

My lips spread apart into a wide smile. "You're right. Nothing makes me happier than you mother," I teased, playfully hitting her on the shoulder.

She nodded her head. "I'm glad to hear it. And you, my dear, are the most important thing to me now. With that murder of Miss Goodman next door, I fear for you going outside." She weakly dabbed the sweat from her brow. My stomach twisted into a knot, only imagining her reaction to the news of Dr. Shore being killed. "I've a nervous wreck for you now and I'd prefer you stay at home rather than going out anymore... just to be safe."

I slumped down in a chair. As long as I could keep working on the case, I could promise her that I wouldn't go out on the town. Not that I ever did anyway. "I understand your fear mother," my voice grew to a whisper. "I'm frightened too, but getting out of this house is good for me. I'm with Mr. Holmes a lot and he's a wonderful fighter, so I'm told. I wouldn't be extremely terrified." Her head slowly turned to the side, looking me over with a smile. I looked up at her in confusion. "What? Why are you looking towards me with that expression?"

"Oh, nothing. It seems you've taken a strong liking to this job, is all."

I shot up from the chair as my brows knitted together tightly. "You'd better not be assuming what I think you are." She only shrugged, no audible response escaping her. I groaned, burying my face in my hands. "How many times must we discuss this mother? Men are a waste of my time," I said truthfully. "The only thing I will ever love is my family and my inventions." I paused a moment. "And cats."

"Renadale Adkins, you are an aging woman. It is not uncommon to be attracted to someone whether you _love _them or not. If I didn't know any better I would think your thoughts were often on your boss and there is nothing wrong with that."

I felt my face turn red, but not in embarrassment. It was growing red in anger because what my mother was saying was not true. I felt no feelings for Holmes; only one of friendship. Yes, he was handsome and cunning, but I was not one to love. I was not one to love and even if I did have feelings, or get flustered by the watch of his eyes and... Oh, what am I saying! He would not waste his time on me. I was nothing. I was about to storm up to my room like a child, but my mother quickly called me back. "Renadale, you look a bit flustered. I'll stop bothering you about him, but do stay and talk with me for a moment, will you?"

Grunting in annoyance, I pathetically flopped back down onto the chair, staring at the wall. My mother was putting away the plates as she continued the conversation. "Did you hear about that riot? Apparently some people were complaining outside of the parliament building today. London truly is becoming mad."

My ears perked up suddenly. "What?" I took in the news with a gasp.

"Yes, riots," she scoffed. "The very idea is disrespectful. If you want to complain, write them a letter or visit them in the office, but rioting will get you nowhere. Remember that for the future Renadale. A hot head is a ghastly head." I didn't care so much for my mother's opinion at the moment more than the actual story. I urged her to tell me all she had heard. "Well, they were all family or loved ones of the mentally ill. In these dark times everyone wants more of something. Whether it's money, love or rights. Those people want more equal rights for their loved ones that are mentally ill. It is a shame however. They barely get paid." She shook her head in disapproval, as did I.

"It's a terrible thing mother," I said honestly. My mind was slowly churning. Could the riots possibly have anything to do with the parliament card? If so, what did it have to do with anything? "I need sleep," I sighed. "It was a long day at work," I said honestly. It had actually been one of the longest days of my life. I kissed my mother atop the head and headed upstairs towards my room.

Once inside, I quietly shut the door, and rushed over to my desk. I pulled out some papers, jotting down some notes about the case. If I dared forget anything, I would feel like I was wasting my time. I wrote down the main points of the case, and carefully looked over them to see if I was missing anything, when something caught my attention.

The first door had seven kisses on it. Dr. Shore's only had six. Carefully and slowly, I set down my pen. My breathing was shaky when I realized that whoever the murderer was still had five people left to go.

~.~.~.~.~

"Holmes!" I shouted, pounding on his door early the next morning. My hand was starting to hurt and I felt like I had been knocking for an hour, but no one was coming to the door. "Mr. Holmes, are you there?" I stopped short, still hearing nothing. Afraid something had happened, I opened the door to find a figure lying on the middle of the floor with a large book draped across his chest. I groaned in exhaustion, rushing over to him and patting him on the face. "Wake up," I whispered.

He groaned a bit, rolling over on his side. My eyes grew wide, not expecting him to act like this. "What's gotten into you?" I chuckled, pushing him a little more. "We have work to do and you're in here sleeping." His hand grabbed the book, handing it to me while his eyes were closed the whole time. Curiously, I took it from him going to the page he was looking at. It was a book of ancient symbols and it was on the page of a wing. My eyes skimmed over it, not noticing anything new. "Is there… something you wanted to tell me?"

His eyes cracked open as he sat up groggily and rubbed the sleep out of them. He sat there for a moment and let a long, heavy sigh escape his lips. "I… did not mean to ignore you as you pounded on my door. You see, I was testing out this drug which temporarily makes you fall asleep."

Laughing, I helped haul him up, but his arms and legs were still a bit frozen and not functioning. Not sure of what else to do, I rested his body against mine and wrapped my arms beneath his to help pull him up. He looked over at me for a moment, before I hesitantly laughed. "Why on Earth did you do that?"

"Because," he mumbled, his head self consciously rolling off to the side. I nudged it back straight so I his voice wouldn't become mumbled in the pit of his shoulder. "I had some strange notion in my head that perhaps the women weren't dead."

I blinked in worry. Emily was already buried and Dr. Shore's funeral was being planned. Whatever was going on through Sherlock's mind when he drank the potion was obviously confusing him "Holmes, are you sure you're alright?" I asked, hauling him back up quickly as he began to slip again. "Maybe you should just stay here and rest for the day. Watson and I can go down to the station together." He mumbled something, his eyes shutting slowly. I lightly patted his head to comfort him. "It's alright for a detective to take a break every once and a while. Honestly, I think you need it."

The door opened suddenly. Watson stood with a look of surprise at the threshold. "I'm sorry," he said, smirking. Holmes still laid drowsily in my arms. "Am I interrupting something?"

"He drank something that made him fall asleep. It looks like it's not wearing off just yet." A bit embarassed, I adjusted myself underneath his weight. "You and I are going to take over the case for today while Mr. Holmes has a nice, long rest." Watson nodded, rushing over to help me lift him off the ground. He scooped his friend up like a child and gently led him towards his bed. Holmes had fallen back asleep and didn't even seem to notice Watson's presence.

He sighed heavily, looking over at me with concern. "Why on Earth did he drink that?"

I shrugged as I felt a small frown growing on my face. "I don't know. He said he wanted to see if the girls had just been given a drug to make them fall asleep, but it seems unlikely. Burying someone alive…" I shuddered. "I don't like to think about it."

Watson offered a half smile, but it was clearly bothering him to. His light eyes glanced down at his unconscious friend with a look of worry. I felt like there was something he knew about Holmes that I didn't. Then I remembered; he knew a _lot _about Holmes that I didn't know. Somehow I was jealous of that, but I couldn't figure out why. Watson was bothered by something too; that much was clear. But what? "Is something wrong?" I finally asked, my own curiosity getting the better of me.

"When Holmes starts doing things like this; things that are irrelevant and unexplainable, it means he doesn't feel like the case is entrancing enough. It's not often he acts this way _during _a case, more so when there is no case for him to solve." Watson sighed heavily and placed his bowler hat snuggly on his slightly curled hair. "There's no need to worry though. He should be alright. After today perhaps you and I will get an inspiring lead on the case, and bring the news back to Holmes."

I nodded, doing my best to give him a smile. We had a decent lead. The only issue was knowing who was going to be killed next, which was something of a problem. That, and I wasn't exactly confident in my detecting methods. I hadn't really done much at all in light of recent realizations. Why did Watson keep me around anyway? He would probably get farther without me than with. I shrugged it off and decided it best to just tag along and see what happened. As I made my way towards the door, my eyes were somehow drawn to the sleeping man in the bed. I stared at him with bewilderment as I felt my own heart beat race my unsteady breath.

Who was this man? He was an enigma to me more than the case. His voice had been slipping into my thoughts and I found myself thinking of him first when I woke up. _I can't be late for work. I need to make Holmes proud. Mother can't let me get fired. I need this job. _Those were the thoughts going through my mind. Yet, something inside me laughed at them. They told me that wasn't exactly my intentions. I _wanted _to go and see him in the mornings. I looked forward to an entire day of fascination, and all because of him.

As I looked at him one last time before I shut the door, I shook my head in disappointment. _He will never think of me as often as I think of him._

_I am a foolish girl._

Watson and I walked quietly out of the room. Holmes was beginning to snores softly as we shut the door. "I did figure something out last night," I said to Watson, trying to take my mind off of Holmes for a moment and back onto the case. "I noticed that Dr. Shore's door only had-"

"Six kisses on it?" Watson said, smiling. "Yes, we noted that as well. Seemingly, the murderer has five women left to go." Uncomfortably, Watson adjusted his vest. "With that presenting itself, it looks like we have to figure this out... and quickly." I nodded in agreement. We both exchanged worried glances though. Could we do it? Especially without Holmes, I wasn't sure if Watson and I were good enough for that. Self confidence, eh? "Don't worry about Holmes," Watson said as though he read my thoughts. "If he continues acting this way you and I can take care of things."

I nodded once more although I found Watson's words hard to believe. I knew that when he said them as well, he didn't believe them very much either. "Yes," I whispered, trying to stay positive. "Yes, we can figure this out."

~.~.~.~.~

Watson and I were back at the station once again with Lestrade still in uniform and ferret looking. Only now, that face was needed to be our saviour. This time we were by the holding cells, ready to go in and talk to the Russian man. Apparently he requested us as a visitor. Well, he requested Holmes, but said Watson and I were alright as well. "You don't have to say anything you don't wish to." Lestrade prepared us as we walked down the small hallway. The paint was chipping off of the sides and I couldn't help but smell a wet dog aroma. "If he threatens you, or anyone else, let us know immediately."

Watson and I nodded robotically. He turned a corner and suddenly my view was filled with a long line of cells. I could hear a man singing and another one talking to himself. He quoted passages from the bible through gritted, yellow teeth. A guard angrily hit the door of the cell to one of the men as he continued asking him questions. I flinched at the unwelcoming sound of fist against metal.

Lestrade led us down the row, his eyes unforgiving towards the men in the cells and his head held high. Watson's hands were in his pockets as his eyes remained glued to the ground. I found myself glancing in on the men on each side as we walked past them. A few of them looked at me with big eyes, one of them even rushing over to the cell to see me. "They don't get to see women," Lestrade explained darkly. "It's an exciting thing for them." I felt my stomach churn with nerves. Men's eyes were a frightening thing for me. With London becoming so corrupt, I figured some of them were in there for foolish reasons, but even their eyes were enough to make any girl uncomfortable. Everyone was a suspect of something these days, it seemed.

Finally we stopped at a cell towards the end. Watson and I peeked inside. The large Russian was sitting on a wooden bed. He looked over at us and formed a sudden smile on his face. "How nice of you two to come and visit me." His tall body rose with a creak of the bed as he made his way towads us. He stuck his hand through the bars, dirty and wrinkled. I couldn't help but notice how it matched his face. Watson slowly shook it. I politely inclined my head, still furious about the situation he had placed us in.

"Get to the point, Yelchin," Lestrade said irritably.

The large Russian, whose head seemed to nearly be touching the ceiling as he loomed over us, slowly turned to the inspector. "Actually, sir, if you don't mind I'd like to talk to the detectives alone."

Lestrade was about to protest, but I quickly stopped him. "Really, it's alright. We need as much information as we can get." Lestrade was worried about it, but eventually he accepted and left the three of us alone.

After a moment of silence the Russian spoke again. "You know, I didn't kill anyone," he said beneath his breath. Watson and I looked at him dryly. That was difficult to believe. "I can tell you don't believe me, but I'm not a liar." A frown was growing on his withered face. "I might be a thug, but I'm no murderer."

"Make us believe you," I said harshly. Something inside me made me want to torment him more. I wanted to feel like the strong one in this situation, but I couldn't help noticing the honesty in his voice. To be a detective however, it seemed like you had to play the game. Whatever kind it was. "Tell us who you're working for."

He chuckled deep in his chest. "I can't do that. I keep my promises. I did what I was asked to do and I got stuck in here. At least I didn't flake out," he said, his voice becoming angrier as he spoke. "I wasn't exactly _planning _on being in here."

"You could tell us everything," I said slowly. "You could tell us who you're working for and it would set you free." His frowning face carefully met my similar one. I saw a hint of consideration in his look, but it was soon faded with a shake of his head. "I admire your loyalty," I said sadly. I didn't want to see this man die because of a promise he made. "I'm going to ask you to tell us something."

"I will tell you something," he said quickly. "Yes, I will. The man who told me to get rid of the doctor; he's not like other men. He's…" He fumbled for the words, but eventually tapped his head.

"Insane," Watson finished.

"Yes," the Russian said, nodding. "For lack of better words. He doesn't seem like it though. It's more of something that appears when you really get to know him." Watson and I carefully exchanged glances. That would provide even _more _of a problem then. "He's working to get more equal rights for people who are different. Like him."

Watson coughed, running his hands through his hair. "Does he happen to have anything to do with the riot that occurred?" I looked up in surprise. That was indeed a very good question.

The Russian shrugged. "I don't think so. He was not there and he did not plan it as far as I know. He's one of those people, however. The ones who want more for their families. Only more so. He's an extremist when it comes to those things. He says parliament's a bad influence." The man paused for a second. A grin stretched across his unshaven face. "He gave me a card, telling me who I was really going after. One said Susan Shore, the other said parliament. It had his seal on it; a red wing." I looked over at Watson, whose eyes were growing wide with interest. "I tried to find it once I woke up from the fight..." He pause and spoke the next line bitterly. "...and got my arm fixed, but I noticed it wasn't there."

I looked down at the man's arm, which was heavily wrapped. It broke my heart to know that he had just gotten it fixed and soon wouldn't be needing it at all. "Our friend took it," Watson's voice brought me back to reality.

The Russian laughed. "Holmes. Yeah, I know who he is; who doesn't?" There was a long pause between us. "Where is your little friend exactly?

"He's ill," I said quickly, not wanting the Russian to suspect anything. I might have said it too quickly however, as he shot me an awkward look. "He's taken to a fever and though he was persisting to come here, I insisted he stayed in bed." The Russian slowly nodded. "Was there something you wanted us to tell him?"

"Yes, actually." He leaned forward towards the bars until our faces were no more than a foot away. His voice went down to a whisper and I could smell an awful stench coming from behind his teeth. I tried my best to hold my breath and still listen to his speech. "My boss says he's seen Holmes around before. He didn't say how, but let's just say, he knows him." A nervous wave splashed through my stomach. Whoever this 'boss' was, was starting to disturb me. "He told me that Holmes didn't have a good enough lead on the case. He said he felt kind of sorry for him actually." Watson and I exchanged glances. If the murderer knew that much, he probably knew much more. We had to keep our eyes peeled. "He wanted me to tell you that wings might represent flying and heaven, but they also represent Hermes."

I nodded, knowing the God very well. "God of news, messages, etcetera."

"Yeah, messages. Think about it," he said laughing. "What spreads a message through all of London, eh?"

"A riot," Watson mumbled.

"Very good detective," the Russian mocked, laughing even more. "And for anyone who wasn't at the riot, where does that message come from?"

Watson's eyes looked down to the floor, his face creased with concentration. The Russian was enjoying our stupidity in the situation. I wasn't that foolish though. "The newspapers," I said, scoffing. The Russian smiled some more. "People find out about things in the news." He nodded his head slowly. "What, you're saying whoever this boss of yours is, wants all of London to pay attention?"

"He's not a foolish man." His voice was almost a growl. "You're catching on. Maybe you should look a little bit further into the situation. My boss has a vision for the world. One that most people agree with. Equal rights for anyone different. If he has to kill people to get people's attention, he'll do it."

"That's sick," Watson said, crossing his arms over his chest. "No wonder he's insane."

"You're the insane one," the man snapped at Watson. I saw him step back, startled. "Everyone in London isn't looking past their front doors. This city is becoming a hell hole and no one is doing anything to fix it. We're all making it worse." He turned his back to us to go and sit back down on his bed. "Leave me be. That way I can think about my wife before I leave this world. Listen to what I said. I can say no more."

Watson was way ahead of me. I could tell he was ready to get out of there as fast as possible. I however, couldn't stop being bothered by the situation. If this man was working for equal rights, but killing the people he wanted to protect, why was he having other people do his job for him? Why was he afraid to show his face if he wanted to whole world to know about him? I took one last look at the praying Russian before dashing off.

~.~.~.~.~

"That man is not crazy," Lestrade said as we left the prison. "Whatever he said to you was either genuine or a lie to throw you off."

"It couldn't have been a lie," Watson said with a heavy sigh. "It's all making much more sense. And the reason for his telling was genuine as well." Lestrade shot him a curious look. "Whoever this killer is has an eye on Holmes. He's noticed that his… satisfaction was coming down."

Lestrade grunted. He was about to admit something he would have prefered not to. "Holmes better snap back into it. Or, I'm getting my men back out there; _alone_. I don't know why I even bother letting him do these things. Probably because he's usually so... so damn good at them." I couldn't help but smile at Lestrade's struggle. Watson, however only nodded gravely. His thoughts were somewhere else again. He cared for Holmes. After all they were practically brothers, but it was still upsetting to see his friend's spirits low. The news we had gotten today was decent, but it only helped us a bit. "Go back home, wake him up and tell him the news," Lestrade encouraged. "I'm sure his mind will start churning again."

Watson sighed heavily and gently patted me on the back. I waved politely to the inspector before walking off with Watson. Both our minds were in a state of confusion. "This doesn't seem easy," Watson said laughing. "For some reason my mind is trying to connect everything but nothing is happening."

"I know what you mean," I said sadly. "We need Holmes to wake up and help us."

Watson chuckled, nodding. "Though he's not always helpful, he sure knows what he's doing. I'm sure by the time we get back he'll be up and ready to go again." I wanted to believe Watson, but I couldn't exactly come to it for some reason. Holmes seemed entirely out of it this morning. Regardless, we only had a couple blocks left before we found out.

~.~.~.~.~

"You've got to be joshing me," Watson chuckled, his hands on his hips. Both of us stared down at Holmes, who was still fast asleep on his bed. "I wonder how much he took, anyways."

My face grew hot suddenly. He wasn't supposed to be acting like this! I was supposed to be taking care of an adult, not a child. In his defense, I wasn't really taking care of him to begin with. I also hadn't been paid, not that I cared. "He's got to be awake," I grumbled, walking more towards the bed. "He's just not moving because he simply doesn't want to." I quickly snatched the pillow out from under his head.

Holmes groaned, rolling over onto his side. He cracked open his eyes and stared upwards in surprise. "Oh," he said bluntly. "It's you." I scoffed, hauling him up like before only this time carrying him off the bed. "You know, I think there is a much more productive way of getting me off of my bed. I think we tried this once before and I can't recall it being too successful, hm?"

"Well you weren't moving!" I grunted under his weight as I finally got him off of it. "So, I figured this would be the most suitable way." I lightly patted his face. "Good afternoon, Mister Holmes. Now sit down and we'll tell you what we've got."

Holmes happily fell back onto his bed. Watson rolled his eyes. "Pay attention, at least. You can go back to bed afterwards." Holmes sat up slowly, trying his best to be more mature about things. "All the Russian man, Yelchin, told us was that the wings represented information. Like Hermes, the messenger God. Whoever the murderer is wants it to be priority news; top news."

Holmes's brows creased together in curiosity. I watched his dirty nails come together at the tips of his fingers as he thought things over. As his maid, I would probably need to reccomend a bath some time soon. "Why on Earth would he tell you such _interesting_ information?"

Hesitantly, I looked over at Watson. I found him looking right back at me, just as afraid to answer. If Holmes was told that he was looking weak, well, it wouldn't exactly boost our spirits. "He said he felt guilty," I lied. "And he wanted to give us some information."

"It's obvious you're lying," Holmes smirked. "You blinked more than the average person would while telling that sentence. A clear detection." I frowned in sadness. There was nothing you could hide from the world's greatest detective. "However, I won't pester you about it because you've got information and that gives us a better lead."

"He also said it had to do with the riots," Watson said. "He too wants equal rights for different individuals."

"Then presumably, he is one himself."

"Yes," I nodded. "It would seem that way."

Carefully Holmes stood up, wobbling a bit. I rushed over, taking his arm in mine. I'm not sure what urged me to, but I found myself wanting to help him. I wanted him to need me in some way. He leaned against me, his face still deep in concentration. "Which newspaper published that story first, Watson?"

Watson shrugged. "London Times.. It's the biggest paper by far, so-" Watson instantly stopped talking, suddenly picking up on the hint. "He wanted them to publish it first." Holmes nodded slowly. "Whoever this murderer is-"

"Must has something to do with the paper; a connection of some sort!" A look of realization passed the detective's face as his voice grew louder with excitement. "I know someone we can speak to on the matter. Come, Watson." I felt Holmes take my hand and pull me out the door, walking quickly. I too knew who we were going to see and suddenly I felt that new rush of adrenaline. I knew he was only dragging me along, but I liked the feeling of his hand in mine. And self-consciously, I held on tighter.


	13. Gone to the Dogs

**You guys! The play is over! I'm alive! I can update almost every day now! What, what! Isn't that jolly good news? I'm certainly excited. I would respond to your comments, but I just want to get this damn chapter posted! ('Scuse my french.) I'm super excited for the next two because… (: Well, let's just say Holmes gets some attention. Heehee! Huzzah for fan girls!**

**By the way, you're all really amazing. And only 4 more reviews until 200? What else can I say to you that will make me believe that you're awesome besides I LOVE YOU!**

**~mistro**

**~.~.~.~.~**

Henry stared up at us in confusion. The three of us had rushed over to him as quickly as possible to see if he knew anything about the press and the riots. "I just deliver papers," he mumbled under his breath. "Everyone in London knows about the riots and murders and quite frankly no one but the insane are nervous. If this murderer had something to do with the papers, I couldn't tell you anything about him."

"You don't know of anyone who might have been slightly ill or different who worked with _The London Times_?" Watson pressed urgently. A few people had stopped to listen to our conversation on Baker St., but none of us paid much attention to them. "If you can only recall a single person, a lead of some sort-"

Henry shoved his papers under his arm, shaking his head. "If I were you, I would just go to the editor myself. I'm sure they know something about it since they're the ones publishing the stories." Henry politely tipped his hat to us. "I'm afraid I've got to move to my next post, but I do wish you three the very best of luck with your searches." He sighed heavily, shaking his head. "It's becoming a bit of a hassle... all these people buying papers and trying to figure out what's going on with these murders. London's really gone to the dogs, hasn't it?"

"Certainly," Holmes said, patting his friend on the back. "Realistically however, that would be impossible." Watson and I slowly narrowed our eyes towards him. "A dog is a man's companion, and quite frankly-"

"It was a metaphor, Mister Holmes," Henry chuckled. "I'll leave you three to think that over, if you wish." Before leaving, he sent us a hearty goodbye and another wish of good luck. Henry had been of less help than had hoped, but he did give us something. There was only one place we all knew we needed to go to and that was to the building where _The London Times _was being edited.

"I know how to get there," Watson said quickly. "I'm not sure exactly what your motives are Holmes, but I'll take you there and leave you to do the talking."

A bemused smile slipped across his face. "Isn't that how it's always been Watson?"

Watson grunted, adjusting his tie. "You would be lost without me, Sherlock. Even if your methods of presumption are seemingly unfeasible."

"A very true fact," Holmes agreed. And I couldn't help but agree also.

~.~.~.~

The smoke in the sky twisted around the clouds. White puffs mixed with grey and encircled one another in their airy grasp. Everything seemed like a painting. Dark clouds loomed over us as a light rain began to nip at my ankles. We had been walking silently next to one another for a few minutes. I could feel my wet hair now sticking to my pale face. The weather mocked the feelings of despondency that I had about the case. I couldn't let Holmes know though; I would only be letting him down if I did. The thought of letting him down made my stomach churn and I literally began to feel sick.

"Here we are," Watson said, brushing drops of rain from his brow. I looked ahead at the large brick building in front of us. I saw Watson eye Holmes with discrepancy. "I'm terribly frightened that you'll happen to say something idiotic and ruin our chances of finding anything out, as you have done so many times before."

"From what I recall; minutes ago you said I would do the talking as always. Now you happen to think you'll do better, yes?"

"I do believe so, if we're going to be frank with one another. I know when to hold my tongue; something you can't seem to do often. Now that the case is getting more severe we can't afford to lose information."

"Are you suggesting that your intelligence is higher than mine?"

"Of course not, Holmes."

"So, I am more clever? Is that what you're saying?" Holmes grinned enthusiastically, inclining his head politely. "That's awfully thoughtful of you, Watson."

Watson looked at him bewildered. "No." He paused for a moment, rethinking about what he said. "Wait, that's not what I meant."

"As I recall, you just said my mind was superior."

"What on Earth are you getting at?" Watson cried in confusion. "Are you suggesting I'm an imbecile?"

"The first step towards self reverence is admitting your problem, Watson. Not all of us can fancy a brain like mine, but well enough, we must settle with what we are given."

"We can _all _talk to him, alright?" I shouted over their amusing bickering and the rain. They shut their mouths instantly. Holmes still wore a smirk of pride. "In my opinion, _neither _of you are worthy to speak, nor do I believe I'm not young and charming enough to do it myself."

I was merely joking, but they seemed to have taken my suggestion quite seriously. "I do believe you have a splendid point, Miss Adkins. The way you beguiled that Russian by means of sensuality gives us a clear vision that it could possibly work again." He paused a moment, scrunching his brows together. "Well, certainly if the editor was of the male gender."

"Hush," Watson said, knocking on the door. "I fancy none of us are worthy enough to not look ridiculous. We'll _all_ just see how things go. We can't afford to lose another lead on the case. And as far as I'm concerned we won't if we just let things come naturally."

Holmes nodded in agreement. Rain trickled down his chin and splashed itself across his moist tie. I hadn't noticed how much heavier the rain was falling until I noticed the cold bite my neck. I wrapped my scarf tighter, urgently hoping someone would open the door soon. "Their hospitality shouldn't fail," Watson said, rubbing his gloved hands together to warm them. "It's not very polite to leave three people in the bitter rain on a doorstep at any rate."

As if on cue, the door flung open, a small old woman on the other side. Her small blue eyes peered past us into the rain, her frown suddenly tightening. "Oh heavens! There's quite a storm out there." She opened the door wider and allowed us inside. "Do come in quickly." We thanked her in relief as we entered the warm building. I watched the water trickle off my dress and onto the door mat below me. I was finally glad to be inside. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"We need to speak to one of your editors," Watson said politely. He pulled off his gloves. Extending his arm, he offered her a hand shake. "It's a highly important case that we're involved with and we think you could be of use." The woman stared at him blankly. She made no effort to shake his hand and he slowly let it fall. "We're detectives."

Curiously, she cocked her grey head to the side. "You too?"

A long silence lingered at the threshold. Us _too_? Who else had come by? I glanced towards Watson and Holmes who both stared back at me with equal perplexity. Before any one of us could get another thought out, a familiar face showed up at the end of the hallway. "Jacob," I said breathlessly. His appearance took me by surprise. His tall slender flame was withered and folded. His eyes were painted underneath by large black circles as though he hadn't slept in days and his lustrous blonde curls were sprouting up like weeds.

"Hello," he said bluntly, clutching his bowler hat in his hands. His grey eyes peered up at us with hesitation. It was almost as though he were afraid to come near us.

I walked over to him quickly, taking his hands in mine. A sudden surge of sympathy swept over me as I noticed how strongly he held them back. "Are you alright?" I whispered to him though I already knew the answer.

"I haven't been able to sleep well enough for a week," he murmured. I watched his sunken eyes and searched for some hint of emotion. There seemed to be no life in them and the longer I looked the more fatigued he became. "It's not that I'm spying on you or trying to make you look like fools for not getting the case done quicker. I'm just frightened is all. I want so badly for everything to just make sense."

"I know," I nodded. I really did understand. I wanted the case to make sense too. "I know you want someone to solve this whole thing, but things like this take time. Emily did not die in vain. I assure you of that. I believe that whoever is doing this is doing it so that people with differences can have equal rights." We both knew that what I was saying was ridiculous, even if it was true. A murderer is a murderer no matter what they are killing for. In all respect though, Emily was probably better of where she was now than when she was in London.

"Whoever is doing this must be insane as well. It only makes sense." He looked around, noticing that Watson and Holmes had now joined the party. Quietly he pulled us down another hallway. His voice was growing low. "I spoke to the editor. Nothing is as it seems now. The newspapers have been _threatened_ to post the story. There were never any _real _riots. Everything was planned by that killer. Parliament and _The London Times _have both been ordered by to print those stories and Parliament has been ordered to agree with any protests."

"Parliament?" I scoffed in surprise. "Parliament is frightened by a murderer?"

"They're frightened of the people," Holmes said slowly. "If word gets out that parliament isn't listening to the riots the people of London will realize that equal rights are not being given." We all nodded solemnly. "In these times, people surely won't be affectionate of that."

My heart was caught in my throat. Whoever this was held the power now. If you had parliament under control, what didn't you have? The worst part was that parliament didn't know who was threatening them. The killer had henchmen and they were as loyal as can be. "How did you get all of this information, Jacob?"

He flashed me a quick smile before growing serious again. "I told them I was a detective."

"They _believed_ you?"

"People in London will consider anything these days," Watson stated without doubt.

"I know you want more information, but they won't let you talk to them," Jacob said quickly. "It took a lot of convincing to let me talk to them and even when I did they barely told me anything. They know that the killer is absolutely disturbed. He even admitted it himself. They demanded the story be printed so that Parliament could get a better look at the chaotic world London was becoming. All of the chaos would be their doing and in turn parliament would give them equal rights, eventually."

"Do you know the sex?" Watson asked quickly. "Solving out that tiny element would be accommodating…" Holmes and I mumbled in agreement.

Jacob shook his head. "They said it sounded like a woman. You can never be sure though. It was dark and they had the editor by the neck with a knife and they whispered in their ear too low to know if it was a man or woman. I wouldn't be surprised if it was a false identity and whoever threatened them was only working for the real murderer." Jacob flinched a bit, before shutting his eyes. "I know this is your case, but I couldn't wait for you. I had to get answers myself."

"Don't be sorry," I reassured him. "You've helped us much more than anyone else has."

Jacob's frown grew even deeper. "I have?"

"Yes," Holmes said quickly. "Which is a rather shame on our part since you already told us of information we could have easily gained ourselves." I glanced over at him. His dark eyes were facing a wall behind us. His mind was lost in a different world. "The first step however is making do with what you have. And we only have another day until the next murder is presupposed to commence."

"Do we?" Watson said with a hint of panic in his voice. "The other two had a time span of three days between them. You think the next one will be killed three days between as well?" Holmes nodded. "What makes you think so?"

"Life is easily deductable. People really are the same once you look at things from the correct point of view. Creativity is often shared and I believe that this murder, as clever as he may be, is not original. He needs a day to calm himself from the last kill, a day to plan, and a day to take action." He nodded politely towards Jacob. "If you find out anything else don't let it slip your mind to let us know."

Turning on his heels, Holmes headed back down the hallway towards the door. Watson and I stood bewildered as he left. I felt my heart beat racing faster and faster. I wasn't quite sure why he was leaving, but without Holmes _all_ of us would be lost. More people would die and the way I saw it, they_ liked_ having Holmes follow them around. They liked it even more that we couldn't figure out what was going on. "Renadale-" Watson started, but I already knew what he was going to say.

"I'll go after him and make sure he's alright." I felt myself take off from the hallway and out the door. My eyes skimmed through the heavy rain that now pelted on me as I looked for a ratty coat and a head of messy brown hair. "Holmes!" I cried out when I saw him walking. My feet jumped from the steps, shoving through the crowds on the street. "Wait!"

I saw him turn around and face me quickly as I ran up to him. I placed my arms on his shoulders, both of us losing our balance as I bumped into him. He stared down at me, wide eyed. His eyes were filled with irritation and fatigue. "Good afternoon, Miss Adkins," he said monotonously.

"Don't _talk_ to me like that," I said breathlessly with my hands still clamped onto his strong shoulders. His eyes were burning into mine, but I saw no sign of fret. "I know it's frustrating, but we have a good lead, sir. We don't know who he'll strike next, but we know what his goal is." I stopped short, trying to catch my breath. As I stood panting, his mouth shut with certainty. "… Will you say nothing? Why did you leave?"

His eyes darted quickly around us. I followed his gaze and spotted nothing unusual. "Come with me," he said softly. I felt him snatch my wrist once again and lead me back towards his house. "It's not that I have nothing to speak of," he reassured as we walked briskly down the cobblestone streets. "It's certainly not that there is nothing on my mind. When you are given a large quantity of information it is not unusual to serve yourself time to think things through. To gather thoughts in one's mind is to be alone... where one might recollect."

I knew he was right. The best time I thought about things was when I was alone with peace and quiet. However, it didn't make up for his unusual nature. The memory of him practically drugging himself bothered me in the very least and I grabbed his shoulders once again. We stopped in a nearby alley way. Water dripped from its walls and the darkness of it consumed us. Chills shot up my spine, but we were alone and that was all that mattered for the moment. "That might be true," I said softly to him. "You're not telling me everything though. Something is bothering you and I can't make out what it is." He stood silent for a moment. "I know we are not the closest of companions, but I don't think what you did was relevant or made any sense. What happened to your pride? What happened to your hope?"

Our breathing came out in the cold air as whirls of smoke. I noticed my hands were clutching at the sides of his jacket. Our bodies were as close to one another as they had been underneath the stage at the magic show. Only this time I wasn't as nervous. His eyes darted across my face like they were trying to read me. "Are you saying that you're worried?" He asked; his voice more smooth and deep than I had ever heard it.

The sentence took me by surprise. I opened my mouth to quickly reject the somewhat tender question, but shut it when I realized that I actually _was_ bothered. I noticed the soft spot that I suddenly grew for him and realized that it was true. "Yes," I breathed, dropping my hands from his jacket. "Yes, I'm frightened for you."

"Don't be." He was staring at me now with a rather dull look. His eyes however twinkled and I noticed the sincerity in them. "You have nothing to be troubled for."

Hesitantly, I nodded my head. My cheeks suddenly grew warm and I took a step away from him. "If you swear by it… then I shall not worry."

He nodded briskly, wiping off drops of rain from his face. "Then let us continue on. That way we may look at the problem in the light of pure reason."

~.~.~.~.~

Watson eventually caught back up with us and the three of us then met in Holmes's room. We were desperately trying to catch up on everything. I let the two talk things out as I sat quietly with Watson's pudgy dog, Gladstone, upon my lap. They had been discussing heatedly and calmly argued with one another for quite some time. There had been a few things both of them agreed on.

One.

The murderer has some connection with Dr. Shore and her patients or else they would not know about the passage way beneath her house.

Two.

The murderer was a man and for numerous reasons. They enjoyed tobacco, they had terrible penmanship (as seen on the business card reading; 'parliament'), their aim was seemingly towards woman and they happened to be connected to three large foreign gangsters. Now, it could possibly be a woman, but it seemed unlikely.

"What about the red?" I asked curiously. "The red wing on the card. The wing represented the news, but what of the color?"

"I hadn't even thought of _that,_" Watson grumbled, falling back onto a chair.

Holmes shook his head and puffed out more of his pipe smoke. "This is why you are not a splendid detective, John. You are getting there, however." Watson grunted in amusement as he slammed his cane into the floor out of frustration. "They might be trying to fool us, but there are too many obvious things in life that nobody happens to observe." Our undivided attention was suddenly fixed upon Holmes. "To stimulate your hidden genius Watson, I think I'll focus on keeping this obvious fact to myself."

Watson grumbled. "I am _not _dumb, Holmes." He adjusted his tie proudly. "I am a doctor." I laughed, pleased with my friends pride. "Besides, is there anything you _don't_ pester me about?"

"Of course not. In all truth, it makes you more careful about what you say. I wish I knew more people so I could judge their choice of words and teach the whole of society how to speak and when to speak without making themselves look like a fool." Holmes raised his brows. "Unfortunately there aren't enough people in the world worth knowing."

"Better a witty fool than a foolish wit," I quoted Shakespeare with a smile. Holmes inclined his head towards me in respect.

"Precisely."

"So you mean to say that you've got some sort of reasoning behind all of this in your head?" Watson asked, scoffing. "Yet you won't tell us what it is?" Holmes dully nodded. "And why is that? So if you're incorrect you don't make a fool of _yourself_?"

"Now you're starting to catch on, Watson. It's a capital mistake to come up with the whole theory before you have all the evidence. The press, once you take a better look at it and everyone in it, is a rather industrious business. We need to carefully focus on the branches and steps and see who has the inside source."

I smiled, looking at my boss with admiration. I didn't care if he knew more about the case than us. His mind was charging once again. Thoughts were flowing through his brain. We weren't without hope at all. We just needed time to think things through... even if we _were_ running out of time.

The two continued talking things over, but my eyelids were drooping too much to engage in any type of further conversation. I could feel the fat dog breathing up and down on my lap, already off into a slumber of his own. I leaned over to the table next to me to grab my scarf when I noticed a flipped over photograph on it. I looked up at Holmes and seeing that he wasn't paying attention, I quickly snatched the photo underneath my scarf.

Hiding the photo, I flipped it over. My eyes grew wide as I drew in my breath. A beautiful young woman stared back at me. Her dark eyes were covered in heavy makeup. Her curls were balled up into a neat style upon her head, and her tall and slender frame seemed almost perfect. I found myself growing envious of her and I quickly set the framed picture back on the table.

"What was that you had?" Holmes asked, making me jump.

"What?" I snapped my head upwards. "Oh… it was nothing. I was reaching for my scarf, that's all." I stood up timidly, upsetting Gladstone in the process as he tumbled onto the floor.

Holmes curiously glanced from the table to me and then back to the table. He quietly walked over to it and scooped up the photograph. He stared at it for a moment, before grunting and setting it back down so he couldn't see the photo inside. "You're a bit hesitant."

"I'm not hesitant," I snapped. "I was simply reaching for my scarf."

He paused for a moment before giving me a slight smirk. "Oh, listen to that tone of voice!" He grinned. I could feel the color rise to my cheeks out of anger. "Jealousy is a strange character transformer. Wouldn't you agree, Watson?"

Watson gaped from the other side of the room. It was obvious he hadn't been paying attention and was very lost as to what was happening. "I suppose so, but how is this relevant?"

"It's not," I said standing up. Whoever the woman was, Holmes knew I was somehow bothered by her. I wouldn't show it. For all the money in the world, I would force myself not to show it. For all I knew the gorgeous young woman could be his sister. I eyed him carefully, putting my scarf back on. I doubted that. His face was somewhat gloomy as his eyes stared at the back of the frame. "Yet, sometimes love is a strange character transformer too. Is it not, Mr. Holmes?"

His eyes darted up towards me quickly. "Love?" He stated in confusion. "I must edify you that I am not one to be conscious of the fundamental nature of… romance." He looked back down at the photograph before giving an amused grunt. "She's a criminal in case you were curious."

"Are you talking about Irene?" Watson asked, still confused. Holmes shot him a heated look before turned back to me with a polite nod of the head. "Alright, fine." Watson shrugged with obvious disappointment. "Don't tell the intelligent doctor what's going on. He can figure out for himself."

I wrapped my scarf tighter around me and laughed. Whoever the woman. Not knowing who the woman was would not bother me. I shut my eyes and imagined myself sleeping. The image seemed nice and I knew I had to get out of there. "Is there anything else I can do for you, Mister Holmes?" I asked like always.

He stayed silent for a moment before he spoke. "Just know that she is not what you believe." I knew he was talking about the woman in the photo. Irene was her name. I wanted to believe him, but something stayed with me as untrue. I nodded to please him. "Have a splendid rest, Renadale," he said, waving me off.

As I headed home I noticed that my heart still hurt for some reason and that his voice was still in my head saying my name.

_Renadale. _


	14. A Masked Gentleman

**Hm. So much for the whole, updating every day thing, right? Well now I'm in Music Man and we have rehearsals every day after school too, but I've done it before and I can do it again, I know it! Regardless, here's the new chapter. Sorry it took a while. I hate waiting just as much as you, trust me! It's a bit slow and dull, but that's only because I'm trying to extend the wait for the next chapter… (: Muah haha!**

**Oh, and by the way, for any of you who asked, I was Feste in Twelfth Night. And yes, I am a woman. (Although I often wish I were Ben Kingsley). And no, I did not dress up as a man. We simply changed the gender, is all! And I'm a teen dancer in Music Man. Huzzah, I get to run around and be annoying! "Pick a little talk a little, pick a little talk a little! CHEEP CHEEP CHEEP!"**

**What would I be without you? OVER 200 REVIEWS YEAHHHH! **

**~mistro **

**(oo look I centered it today) **

**~.~.~.~.~**

_The large woman leaned over her seven year old child whose bright green eyes were fantastically staring at a small contraption in front of her. "Well, what do you have here, Renadale?" She said as she stroked her daughter's hair in front of her. _

_"It's an invention," she said, her lips spreading apart into a crooked, youthful smile. "And it's my very first one."_

_"Well, would you take a look at that, dear!" The large woman chuckled as she spoke to the man behind her. "Our little girl is an inventor." The woman's husband grinned behind his white facial hair, genuinely pleased with his child. "Tell me dear, what does it do?"_

_"Well," the little girl clearned her throat and held up her pointed contraption before her parents. "It holds small kitchen utensils," she said smirking. "It's very simple, but I think find it useful." The device consisted of a spoon, a fork, a knife as well a small rag used as a napkin, all on a small chain._

_Her mother gently took the device from her daughter. "Did you take those from downstairs?" She said, knitting her brows together. Renadale nodded innocently. She was afraid of being scolded. There was nothing to be worried for however, seeing that her mother was more impressed than angered. "How on earth did you get them down to this size?"_

_"Well, I asked the blacksmith down the street to make them smaller," she said easily. "I made them that way so they would fit in ladies purses so they can take them to restaurants with them." Her parents exchanged an odd glance with one another._

_"Renadale, my dear," her father said chuckling. "Restaurants already have such things."_

_Renadale frowned, snatching her creation from her mother. "Not everyone likes using them you know." She said, crossing her arms over her small chest. "Some people are strange and don't like using things other people have touched. Especially with their mouths." She shrugged, putting her invention carefully in a large wooden box before shoving it back under her bed. "There are people out there who really don't like germs; people who are different!"_

_Her mother and father looked at one another before both cracking a smile. "Different people would love that invention darling," her mother said, kissing Renadale on her head. "Different; just like you."_

_Renadale smiled enthusiastically. "Just like me!"_

_~.~.~.~.~_

I woke up. My face was warm and my hands were clutching my covers tightly. I felt my hair clinging around my neck with my curls messily blocking my vision. My heart was pounding and I clutched at my chest. Why had I dreamed so vividly about my childhood?

Regardless of why it happened, I flung myself out of my bed and lit a short candle by my bedside. It lit the room up enough for me to crouch down and pull out a dusty old box from beneath my bed. I looked at the flowers carved into the wooden top, my hands shaking as I gripped the edges. The last time I had opened this box was years ago when my father was still alive. After it was filled I simply began filling up empty corners in my room with all of my bright ideas.

I pulled it off breezily as dust was sent flying all over. Coughing into my arm, I rummaged around the box until I dug up exactly what I was looking for. The actual utensils themselves were a bit less pretty as they once had been, but other than that it wasn't in as terrible of shape as I thought it would be. I twisted it around in my fingers and eyed it curiously. It was so simple. Such a small little thing, but it could make things so much easier for people. _That's_ why I wanted to invent things. I wanted to make life easier for people who found it difficult. I wanted to make life simpler for people who were different.

Like me.

Or Dr. Shore.

And even Emily Goodman.

We were all different; some of us more so than others. It was perceived from my mother that I had some certain anti-social disorder, but that was quickly fading as I worked more with Watson and Holmes. Even though they themselves were different they had a way of making me feel like I was actually worth having around. I felt like I was worth listening to and getting to know. Maybe I really was an interesting person! I just never talked to anyone long enough to figure that part out and was therefore labeled as a social hermit. I was always disagreeing and stating that I merely liked spending time alone. Yet when I looked at my walls and noticed all of the inventions, I realized that I had spent much more time indoors than I had originally thought.

A sinking feeling arose in my stomach as I came to this conclusion. If Emily Goodman was my neighbor, did the murderer know who I was? What if they knew that I was different? Even though I wasn't as strange as Emily, Dr. Shore wasn't outrageously strange either. What if I was a target? What if I was planned to be killed the entire time and I didn't even know it?

The hairs on my neck began to rise and I felt something lightly touch my back. Squirming in fear, I jumped back into my bed, realizing that no one else was in my room but me. My breathing was heavier now than when I had awoken from my dream and my eyes began brimming with tears. I quickly crawled into bed and pulled my blanket over my head. It was the only way I could protect myself until morning. Inside my head, I knew no one was in the room but me. I knew no one was waiting outside my door or downstairs at the kitchen table. Yet, when you think about those things they seem real. All I could do until morning was shut my eyes and pray that what I was thinking about was only a strange figment of my imagination.

~.~.~.~.~

"What do you mean he's not here?" I frowned in annoyance at the maid who told me that Holmes was not at home and had not been since early this morning. "There's nothing left for me? Not even a note of departure?"

She shook her head hesitantly. Her youthful eyes showed that she was clearly intimidated by my tone. I hardly got any sleep the night before, worrying myself to slumber the whole time and needless to say I wasn't exactly in the best of moods when I awoke. "Dr. Watson is here if you wish to speak with him." I sighed in relief. If both of them would have left, I wouldn't have a clue of what to do. I might actually have to do my job and clean something.

"Thank you!" I rushed upstairs to Watson's office.

After knocking on the door, I waited patiently for it to open. When it did I was greeted by a quick and simple shrug of the shoulders. "I don't know where he is either, but wherever he is, it better be accommodating." He held the door open. "Come inside. I love morning company."

I breathed a sigh of relief as I entered the perfectly clean apartment. I just needed to preoccupy myself with company today, _anyone_, to keep my mind off my ideas from last night. Normally I rarely wanted to step outdoors. Now I couldn't get enough of it. "Knowing Holmes, he's probably off trying to figure things out for himself. I'm not sure of what to do without his instruction quite honestly." I cracked a quick smile. "It's quite pathetic, really."

Watson nodded, giving me a small smile. "As uncouth as he is, he does have a way of taking the improbable and making things simple. Considering you're his maid, I would just recommend cleaning until he gets back." Watson's brow rose smoothly. "And by cleaning, I mean just so happening to glance around at his personal possessions that he is often so protective of."

There was a strange silence as we both slipped into our own thoughts. Just what did Holmes have in all of those boxes and folders? More newspapers, pictures, journals? It would certainly be interesting to find out as long as everything was put back exactly as it was before. "Are you sure you don't know where he is?" I asked. "I wouldn't want him erupting through the door as we were rummaging through his belongings."

"Truthfully," Watson chuckled. "I haven't a clue." His brow rose as smirk formed upon his handsome face in unison. "Then again... if you go into his room, perhaps there could be certain hint leading you as to where he may be. It would be a logical explination if he were to come in."

He had a point. There could easily be an address, a photo, or a newspaper article sprawled upon Holmes's cluttered desk giving us some sort of lead as to where he was. Watson and I smiled at one another. We couldn't have rushed out of the room quicker. I pulled out the key to his room and cracked open the door to find it in its typical, rugged state. Nothing seemed different,so we both entered the room casually. Watson walked over to the desk as I curiously strolled around. It felt different to be walking freely without his watchful, chocolate eyes. I wasn't exactly intruding on his personal life. I was merely curious.

"Aha!" Exclaimed Watson, lifting up a piece of paper with a grin. "I have a small guess as to where he is." I hurried over to him, reading the section that was on top. It was more of the papers that we found at Emily's with notes of her meetings with Dr. Shore. Only this time it was with a girl named Helen Irons. I noticed her scribbled signature at the bottom of the page. The last name rang out into my head like a bell.

"Irons," I said carefully. "That's Jacob's last name." Watson grunted, obviously unpleased that more confusion was being piled on. "Do you think she has a connection with anything that's happening?"

Watson sighed heavily, his eyes still skimming over the paper. "This is a recent document. Holmes must have gone to Dr. Shore's place early this morning and taken it. It was only from a few days ago." He frowned. Our eyes met the other's. "This was the day Dr. Shore was with that nervous blonde woman."

I thought back to the girl in the roo. Her large grey eyes and her curly blonde hair perfectly placed on her small head flashed through my mind. I remember watching the way her thumbs twiddled around one another obsessively. Her eyes however were unmistakable. She had to be related to Jacob in some way or another. "It makes sense," I said breathlessly. "Her eyes were as smokey as his. Maybe she's the next victim. If not the next then maybe one of them. Holmes just might happen to be at her home right now."

"Maybe it wasn't just Emily then." Watson's voice was more sympathetic. "If she's related to Jacob then maybe he wasn't just trying to figure out this murderer because of Emily, but because of Helen as well." I felt like a weight was being lifted from my shoulders. Yes, he loved Emily, but Helen was a stronger reason to fight for justice as well.

"It's certainly something that we should ask him," I said calmly.

His thin finger pointed to the bottom of the page. "There's an address on here. If Holmes is not there then let it be so. Wherever he is we can't just assume he's working." That note made my stomach a bit queasy. If he wasn't working on the case then what would he be doing? I pushed the thought aside though. He had to be worried about it. There was no doubt. "Well, Renadale. Shall we go?"

I was about to agree and rush upstairs to grab my coat, but something caught my eye. It was a smaller leather case on Holmes desk. Normally I wouldn't second glance at it, but it was open and something caught my eye. Watson followed my long glance. "Tell me he doesn't use that regularly," I said, recognizing the flaky white drug.

"No," Watson said shakily. He shoved the drugs back into the case, shutting it quickly. "He doesn't. He only uses it when no case is presenting itself." I continued to stare at it. Just looking at it made me feel light headed. "Of course, being a doctor, I've tried to talk some sense into him. Sometimes you can't change people. Especially Holmes. "

"He uses it out of boredom?" I was shocked. My normally impressed vision of Holmes was slowly deteriorating the more Watson continued.

"No," he said. "Well, actually, yes." Watson's eyes grew bigger as well as his frown. "Don't hold it against him." I nodded solemnly. I couldn't help but feel like the whole thing could be easily avoidable. Luckily however, I knew little about cocaine and ignored it. "It's this, or boxing," Watson said with a chuckle. "I suppose boxing would be more sensible."

I felt a small smile creep across my face. Sure, Holmes wasn't perfect. He was just a man getting by with life like we all were. His choices were not something I could judge. "It's true," I agreed. "With London in the state it is these days however, there are certainly other ways he could amuse himself."

Watson stared at me as I tried to contain my laughter. He knew what I was talking about and once he realized it a bemused grin crept across his face. "Um, no," he said, tossing on his hat. "We certainly don't have to worry about _that_."

~.~.~.~

The Irons had a nice home. It was about the same size as mine and located in a nicer section of London rather than the grimy apartments by the docks or in the city. Despite their nervous nature, the Irons seemed to be a typical family by the looks of their home.

Watson and I waited patiently after knocking on the door. A moment later it opened with a rather tired looking woman in an apron behind it. "Hello..." Her voice was slow and careful. Her blue eyes glossed over us hesitantly. "May I help you?"

"Yes, ma'am." Watson elegantly tipped his head as a hello. "Has anyone stopped by here today, perchance?"

Both of our attentions were switched over to a familiar figure that was walking down the stairs. He wore a bemused smirk on his unshaven face. "Watson!" Holmes cried his voice uplifted and somewhat happier than we both suspected. "You found me. A mouse chasing a cat... rather amusing when you lay it out like that, wouldn't you agree?" Watson was about to respond in irritation, but Holmes beat him to it. "I suppose you might be worth having around after all."

The woman at the door looked between the three of us carefully. "We work together," I answered, trying to end her confusion.

"I see," she said, smiling a bit. "At first I was nervous you were just more of those nosy detectives these days. Once he introduced himself as Sherlock Holmes, I had to let him in." Watson grunted in amusement, as did I. Our strange friend was famous and though none of it came as a surprise it was the strange personality that we knew so well that got in the way of the popularity. "Whatever you're doing I hope you solve it quickly!" Her voice dropped. "My daughter isn't well. I just want her to be happy... to live a normal life as best as she can. Now that her doctor is gone, I don't know what she'll be like."

"I assure you we are working towards finding an answer," Holmes said as he joined us at the doorstep. "Quite honestly, the killer is as well attempting to get more freedom for people like your daughter. It's just that we have a more sensible and more productive way of coming about it." The woman curiously glanced at him. His intellect was a bit too much and she struggled to follow. "We won't be trying to murder your daughter to get parliament's attention." The woman let out a loud and shaky cry, gathering her dress in her hands and rushing up the stairs. Watson and I slowly turned our heads towards Holmes in annoyance. "It's quite alright," he nodded, shoving his pipe into his mouth. "I've got what I wanted."

"Have you?" Watson scoffed as he rolled his eyes. Holmes stepped outside and slammed the door behind him. "What exactly is it that you have gotten?"

He spun around on his heels to face us. "The murderer knows who we are. He knows who we all are. And yes, it is a man. That young lady up there gave me quite a bit of useful information and the rest I solved myself, gathered from evidence from the crime scenes this morning."

"You've been keeping secrets the entire time?" Offense was hard to hide from my voice.

"Of course," Holmes said, without a care. "I know for a fact that it is a gentleman because of one tiny detail that must have slipped his mind. When we entered the murder scene of Dr. Susan Shore, a table in the center of the room was knocked over. However, something was different about that table than earlier that day."

"The fact that it was knocked over?" Watson said, completely serious.

Holmes gave him a quick look and then ignored the blunt idiocy that had just happened. "A stain was on the upper right corner. A stain only dark enough and only smelling of certain cologne. I know for a fact it was not the Russian's, because that cologne lasts and when being held by him in the blacksmith shop, I smelt nothing of the sort on him. That means that the murderer was there that night,and he knew we were as well."

When we reached the apartment, Dr. Shore was dead. The kisses were not there however. "You mean, he waited for us," I said breathlessly. "The murderer _wanted_ us to see the kisses. He wanted us to chase down his men."

"He wanted them to get caught, too. His plan all along was to have them be killed," Watson said, realizing finally.

"But why?"

"Because it wouldn't look like a set up," Watson nervously took in his breath. "When you think about it, everything that Russian told us might have been a lie. Or it could have been that he was genuinely upset with his decisions and wanted us to know. The murderer used him." Watson grunted, adjusting his collar. "I dob't care. Serves him right."

I focused my attention back on Holmes with desperation. "Please tell me you have the slightest idea of what's going on."

He grinned right then. His dark eyes seemed to shimmer in the small crack of sunlight. Watson shook his head slowly. He was unable to avoid his own smile that was appearing. "Why even ask, when you already know the answer?"

Even though we were on case all together, Holmes was a mystery of his own.


	15. Exception

**._. the last chapter thing that happened was horrid. I have no idea what happened! Sheer stupidity, I suppose. So, please, if you have not read the REAL version of it, I switched it out. **

**Okay… and I want to make a note about this chapter. I'm sorry if Holmes is OC. It was hard to write this and have him be in character, but I tried… And that's all that matters, right? O_O**

**~mistro**

**~.~.~.~**

I was walking back from Holmes's house. My darkened eyelids were drooping and the only thing that was keeping me from not falling over on the cobblestones were the horses that were clopping along next to me. People were still on the streets, quietly chatting with one another. A few men and women stood closer to one another than most people during the day time would have liked, but I was too tired to be bothered by it.

I felt my heels digging into the puddles left over from the rain. The skies had not looked good today and the extreme darkness that guided me on my walk home was a bit unnerving. I tried to convince myself to not think about such things again; to not scare myself any longer, but as I walked further away from the large parts of town it was difficult not to.

Tonight was the night that the presupposed murder would happen. Tonight, someone else might die. Holmes sent me home a bit early and I wasn't sure of his plans from there. Perhaps he already knew who the target was. Maybe he wanted to save the damsel without me getting in the way. A knot tied in my stomach just thinking about it. Surely Holmes wasn't that intolerable of me... right?

I slowed down a bit as I approached the road leading to my house. Wrapping my coat tighter around me, I turned down the street. No one was there. Everything was silent and I breathed a sigh of relief.

The darkness however was not gone. I could barely see my dark doorway from where I stood so I walked with caution and tried to keep my eyes glued to the road and my house at the same time. I failed miserably and tripped over my own two feet. As I stumbled more towards my door, I stopped and sighed heavily on the doorway.

And then I saw it.

I saw it plain as day in that dark night.

There were _kisses_ on my door.

There were five perfect, large, and luscious pink marks splattered right in the middle of it.

I opened my mouth to scream, to yell, but nothing happened.

My hands dropped to my side and I felt my knees about to give out.

I imagined breath on my neck. Someone was inside my house. They were waiting for me. They thought I was inside. _If they were waiting, they could be watching me right now._

Screaming suddenly in horror, I rushed down the steps off my door and sprinted off towards the end of the road. I could feel screams erupting from my throat, but I couldn't hear anything besides my heart beating inside my head. As I headed back towards the main roads, everyone stopped and stared at me. I thought I heard a young boy call out to me, asking me if I was alright, but I kept running. I had to get away from there. I had to go somewhere safe before I lost it.

I rushed up to the familiar door, banging on it repeatedly. It opened and a maid looked at me with wide eyes. "Are you alright, dear? You look as though you've seen death itself!"

Without saying anything, I pushed past her and tried to hold back sobs from escaping my throat. The murderer was at _my _house. My _mother _could have been there if she weren't out tonight. How did I know if she was home? What if I went there the next day… only to find her…?

I literally screamed, just to get the thought out of my head. I could feel the salty tears running down my next and into my mouth. I was practically drowning in them, but I didn't care. I liked the feeling of them clinging to my face as though in a tight hug. They were calming me down even if I was feeling a little queasy.

I rushed up to the other door, knocking on it until he answered. My fists banged repeatedly, over and over, eventually hurting so much that I had to make myself stop. Once I removed my hands from the door, Holmes stood at the threshold, bewildered. He made no movement. His eyes were wide and scared. After a moment or two, he parted his mouth as though to say something. Without a second's thought however, I collapsed onto him, gripping the sides of his jacket in hysterics.

He leaned back in surprise, not exactly understanding the gravity of the situation. He wrapped his arms around my waist and hauled me inside. "You're hysterical. You must calm down if I'm going to try and understand what's happening." He shut the door, locking it twice. I couldn't get myself to relax. I was sobbing into him like a pathetic child and as stupid as I must have looked, I didn't have a care in the world. "Well. I believe it's come down to this," Holmes muttered to himself. A moment later, I felt his strong arms beneath my knees, scooping me like a bride.

I whimpered as he sat me down on his red velvet sofa. Placing my face in my hands, I continued to moan and sob. The image of the kissed doorway wouldn't escape from my head. Holmes looked down at me uncomfortably. He obviously didn't know what to do. Slowly, he picked up a pillow and placed it in my hands. I stared down at it in confusion while I tried to catch my breath. "I figured you could squeeze it or something... I often note that stressed people do such a thing."

As though he was a doctor and it was my medicine, I squeezed that pillow until my hands hurt. Holmes slowly sat down at the end of the sofa with his hands on his knees. I focused on him through my tears. The more I stared at him the less I cried. I was there with him. Just him. No one else was there. No one would harm me if they _were_ there, because Holmes would stop them. Without thinking, I sat up and reached for his hand.

He stared down at it with a raised brow. I expected him to lightly take his out from under mine, or flinch; _something._ Nothing happened though. He simply stared at our hands on top of one another. For a moment, I felt like he might have heard my heart beating. I thought maybe he would be able to feel it through my hand on his. As if on cue, his hand flipped over, his surprisingly soft palm against mine. Neither of us moved an inch. It was only until I began to feel dizzy that I noticed I wasn't breathing.

"Tell me, Miss Adkins," he said, professionally. His tone of voice might have bothered me, but he was Sherlock Holmes. It wasn't a surprise that he didn't know how to act… somewhat… affectionate, for lack of better words. Or maybe it was just me whose heart was now spinning out of control. "Was there something unusual at your home?"

I opened my mouth to answer, but I couldn't seem to find the words. So, I said what I could manage. "I presume y-you know very well."

His eyes shot up towards my tear stained face. I met them seriously. He had to understand. He blinked a few times. I saw his eyes straying to my chin, then to my lips, where they stayed longer than what I would have expected. "Kiss marks?" He asked. I felt myself blush.

"Yes," I looked away from him as I felt myself beginning to tear up. Slowly, he nodded. I watched him carefully do so and then he slid his hand out from underneath mine and stood up. I looked up at him from the sofa. The room was so dark, I wondered if I had woken him from sleep. His eyes were skimming the cluttered mess. He was at a loss of words for what seemed like the first time. "I'm frightened," I managed to pitifully squeak out.

"Of course," he breathed suddenly as though he had been holding his breath. "No, of course you are. What else would you be feeling?" He faced me again. Something on his face bothered me. He didn't seem surprised. He just seemed… overwhelmed. He wasn't rushing to get his coat and go to my house. He was making haste at trying to figure out what was happening.

"You knew this would happen..." I whispered slowly. Holmes gaze shifted towards the floor. I felt a sudden burst of energy as I flung myself from the sofa. "You figured as much, did you not?" I shouted, spinning him around to face me. "You dared have those thoughts in your head and not tell me?" I cried.

He frowned as his shoulders were trapped by my shaking hands once more. "Do you note the way you're reacting now, Miss Adkins? If I would have told you sooner what my assumptions were you would have gone mad... only giving him more reason to have you as a target."

I replayed his words in my head. _You would have gone mad._ "Have I not already?" I whispered. "Why else would he come for _me?_" I looked desperately into Holmes eyes, his face only inches away from mine. "How does he even know of me?"

"Though seemingly clever," Holmes said, mumbling. "He has surpassed one tiny detail. That he must know you by some sort; narrowing down the suspects quite a bit." My head was beginning to whirl. I wanted to lie down and shut my eyes for days. I didn't want to walk outside of Holmes's room for all the life I had in me. Nothing was stopping me either. I crawled back onto the sofa and pulled my knees up to my chest. My dress was thick and comforting at tht time. I couldn't stop my bottom jaw from quivering again. "Miss Adkins... crying isn't the healthiest solution," Holmes said with a frown.

"Why don't you go after him then?" I shouted perhaps a bit too loud. "He's probably still there! You might go and catch him! Did you not think of that?" Holmes stood rooted to his spot. Nothing I was saying seemed to stimulate him. "If you even tried to go to my home, you could end up solving this case!" I looked up at him once more only to find that he hadn't budged. "Why do you not move?" I asked so silently that it sounded childish.

There was a long pause before he answered."I..." He stopped and redirected his gaze towards the floor. "I won't leave you." My eyes were glued to his handsome face. His were fixed on something outside. Light streamed in from the window, illuminating his face. My heart felt like it was swelling; like it would grow and grow until it burst inside of me. I clutched at it and couldn't recall a time when I had ever had this feeling. It was almost painful and I couldn't seem to get rid of it. Holmes looked at me suddenly, his face darker now as it turned away from the light. "You're too startled to be left alone."

I tried to interject. "But the case-"

"Can wait," he finished. A small smirk came across his face. "Women are never to be trusted. Especially not the best of them," he chuckled lightly. I felt a smile creep across my face. He kept his secrets to protect me. Somehow, I found nothing wrong with that at all. "Besides, there is a way to deduct answers from not even leaving this room," he said as though he were surprised with himself.

"Really?" I sniffed, pulling out my handkerchief and dabbing my wet eyes. "How so?"

Holmes backed up away from the sofa and stood firmly above his desk. Curiously, he outspread his arms, his elbows meeting his sides. "How big would you say?" He raised his thick brow and looked back in my direction. "Would the door be about this large?" I stood up slowly, making my way over to him. I tried to imagine the size of my door and from his form he seemed about the right size. I nodded carefully. "And the kiss marks? About where were they?"

I tried to pull back the picture,as much as I didn't want to. _It's for the case,_ I reminded myself. _Get over yourself already Renadale. You've only had a bit of a scare._ Lie. _It's time to get back to work. _"They were quite low," I said, recalling. "Whoever it was is shorter than me."

"As were the ones on the other women's doors," Holmes sighed. "Well, then we know for certain the Russian and his men were not the ones behind it." I nodded in agreement. I hadn't figured it to be so in the first place. "Miss Adkins…" Holmes said rather softly. In fact, it was so soft that it got my complete attention and took me a moment to answer.

"Yes… Mister Holmes?"

His eyes rolled up from the floor until they were locked on my own. He seemed a bit nervous, which was an odd state to see him in. Holmes might be mistaken for a mad genius, but nervous? The idea of it seemed positively loony itself. "The best way to act out a part is to be it," he said carefully. I nodded, trying to make sense of what was happening. "I would like you to point out exactly where, upon me, the kisses were located." I blinked in surprise. His gaze was stern though and very serious.

Normally, I would reject at this kind of nonsense. I had already established that they belonged to someone shorter, around my height. However, I didn't complain. In fact, I saw it as an opportunity. It was an opportunity that scared me, but some new desire was somehow overpowering my fear. "I would say…" I said quietly, taking a step closer to him. "There was a kiss about here," I said as my finger lightly landed on his collar bone. He stared down at it quizzically. "Not terribly high, but it was probably the highest."

I couldn't stop my fingers from trembling as they rested on his collar bone. He didn't seem to move an inch. He merely raised his brow. "Hm. And the others were lower?"

"Yes," I nodded quickly, taking my hand away. Holmes snatched it just as fast back before quickly letting it go.

"Show me."

"Right here," I said, lightly running my fingers along his shoulder. I heard him breathe in deeply. He was just as uncomfortable as I was, but for some reason I couldn't stop my hand. "And another here," I whispered, my hand lightly trailing over his heart. "One here." My hand drifted onto his forearm. "And a final one here," I said, stopping in the middle of his chest. He took a step closer towards me. My eyes grew wider. Tears were stained on my face, but I wasn't worried about how I looked. Something was happening and my chest was getting tighter and tighter the more I tried to figure out what was wrong with me. Eventually our faces were only an inch away from one another before I couldn't handle the pain any longer. "I'm sorry," I breathed, turning my back to him. "I'm so sorry…"

"Do not apologize for something you did not do," he rushed. Something I hadn't done? Yet, I had done something! I came here and wept. I should have been crying my eyes out. I was completely calm now that I was with him. Things inside me were changing. I felt something strange, something sensational. For the first time in my life, I truly wanted someone to hold me; and yet he said I hadn't done anything. I turned around to face him.

"What do you mean I-"

And then I said nothing. My mouth was stopped short by another. Strong hands found my arms, holding onto them contentedly. I cracked my eyes open in shock, wanting to see proof of what I felt was really happening. Of course when I opened my eyes, Holmes was there with his lips on mine, but his eyes open as well. Startled, I broke free from him. I couldn't help myself from tensing up. I didn't know if I was sure of what had happened.

"Out of character," he said, at a loss for air as well. "Yes, I know." His head nodded wildly. "I can't say what caused it. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep," he mumbled. "Or perhaps your tears stimulated a sort of sympathy inside me that cause my brain to-"

I didn't like hearing his excuses. They made it seem like everything I wished for was nothing but a pathetic lie. So, I did what I knew I could do to make him stop talking. I rushed for him again, my lips meeting his once more. I wanted to drown into him. I confess it. "Y-Yes," he said shakily, but still holding onto my arms. "Lack of sleep."

And then he kissed me once more. And then another, followed by another. Neither of us could seem to stop and neither of us seemed to know why not. My hands found his chin as did my lips. His gentle hands made their way through my tousled hair. I found myself smiling every time he kissed me, somehow feeling happy in the midst of all this chaos.

His fingers lazily pulled off my coat, slinging it onto the chair. His cold hands met my shoulders and I could feel the iciness of them through my dress. I broke free from him, unable to hide my smile. He however wore a bewildered expression. "Miss Adkins, have you been getting a lot of sleep lately?" He said curiously.

"Not... terribly, Sir."

"Sherlock."

"Right, yes."

"That would explain it then," he said. And before leaning into kiss me once more he paused. "Miss Adkins, might I ask you a favor?"

"Renadale," I corrected softly. "Please."

"Renadale," he said, the "r" rolling off his tongue so beautifully it was like he was meant to say it. "I must ask you never to weep in front of me again." I stayed silen. He sighed deeply as his smirk fell and he grew more serious. He was at a loss for words which was obvious. "It seems I just-"

"Don't say anything," I nodded. "I understand." And I did understand. He didn't like to see my cry. Maybe it never bothered him before... to see a woman weeping. It bothered him when I did it though. And I didn't mind that one bit. "I can't keep to that promise though... if it means this will happen afterwrds."

Holmes raised an amused brow. "That's quite a nice observation, yet how do you come by that?"

"Well, look at you now."

He cracked a smile. "There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact. However, there are always exceptions."

"I would take you as a man who wouldn't_ make_ exceptions."

"Exceptions disprove the rules. A fact; one that is both clear and true in any language. However, I'm willing to make one now."

There was another silence between us. I was going to ask him what exception he was making. Who or what it was in his life that was new to him. When it dawned upon me that Holmes had mentioned before that he wasn't one to love or care for someone. Call me mad, but it seemed as though this is what Holmes was speaking of. That maybe I was someone he could care for. Someone he could care for... more than a companion. I didn't want to think about that though. If I were wrong my weak heart would hurt too much. My mind briefly shifted back to the kisses on my door, but I shoved the thought away. I was happy now. That was all that mattered. "Mister Holmes… Is there anything else I can do for you?" I asked, routinely.

We both smiled in unison before leaning down for another kiss.


	16. Cracked Pride

**Holmes love… quite exciting, huh? Haha, trust me, I wanted to write more. I thought it was a good place to end though. And… expect more love to come. If not in this story then definitely in a sequel. WAIT, WHAT? Psh, no. There will be no sequel. –glare- Stop hoping. –pause- Or will there be a sequel? Haha, what am I doing? I'm being super silly right now. **

**Anyways, sorry for the super long wait. I hate myself for doing so, but I've had music man practice until 9 every night. I'm seriously pulling my hair out. I shouldn't have auditioned. -_- It's just taking up my time. **

**HOLMES AWAITS YOU ALL, DEAR READERS! He has missed you terribly. Of course, that dashing young doctor has as well. ;) **

**By the way, hold onto your hats. This is where the intensity gets more… intense. **

**~mistro**

**~.~.~.~.~.~**

When I wake up in the morning, there's always this tight feeling in my back. I crawl out of my rickety wooden bed, my pillow gathering dust from my musty old bedroom. The grey skies of London peek through my window and I toss something on, not seeming to care. That's practically how my morning goes. I don't seem to mind anything. If someone were to approach me on the streets and shove me, I would simply let it happen.

In other words, I am not a morning person.

However…

I felt myself awake the next morning without opening my eyes. My mouth didn't taste foul, but had a rather bittersweet tang to it. I knitted my brows together as my hands traveled over something exceptionally soft. Curiously, I cracked open my eyes to find what I was stroking was a red blanket. "That's not mine," I said aloud. My body sat upwards as I noticed another figure, sitting lazily next to me. "That's not mine either!" I cried, hopping up from the bed.

Gladstone looked up at me curiously with his head cocked sideways. For a moment he looked almost as though he were smiling, but he soon lost his inquisitiveness and went back to sleep. I scanned the room while trying to catch my breath. Of course I _knew _where I was, but in my state of fluster, I couldn't seem to comprehend _why_ I was there. Holmes was nowhere to be seen, nor Watson for that matter.

"This is all very unintentional," I muttered aloud to myself. Watson's dog looked up at me again, now paying attention. I hopped back onto the bed, grabbing his fat face in my hands. "Do you know why I'm here, you silly dog?" I said, scratching its ears. He rolled over playfully on his back. "Until you answer me, you're not getting a scratching." I rolled off the bed with a heavy sigh.

"I know why I'm here," I said surely. Yes, I remembered. I had kissed him. I had gone and done it, hadn't I? Out of everyone in the world to go to, I had to go to the one man who said he couldn't comfort or love. The one man who didn't know _how _to love. For all I knew, he probably didn't even believe in it either. And the worst part? _I_ was a romantic, as locked in solitude as I was. And as I stood there in his room, every single moment from the night before was rushing back into my head quicker than I wanted it to.

Every smile he gave, every laugh or murmur he managed to let out, the way he was so confused and hesitant when I came bursting in his door with tears running down my face, all of it was rushing through my mind. Yet, something else came to my attention. He hadn't stopped me. He _had _kissed me back, right? Or did I somehow manage to lose consciousness on his couch and dream it all?

The door swung open unexpectedly and I quickly shot my gaze towards it. Watson and Holmes stood in the threshold. Holmes wore no expression. I had to look at Watson for an explanation. Watson however, did not look too pleased to see me. On that note, he was more bewildered than anything else. "Come, my dear Watson," Holmes coughed, beginning to close the door. "Shield your youthful eyes; we shall stop back in a moment."

The door shut almost as unexpectedly as it had opened. "What?" I mumbled, not understanding the situation. It was then that I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My dress was still on, just a bit wrinkled. My hair looked very much like morning hair and the little bit of makeup I wore had faded. There was nothing secretive, scandalous, or even very ill at ease about appearance, but since Watson was an engaged man it made sense that he would feel rather… well, tongue-tied. Then again, finding any woman in that state might startle a man. And like I said, I wasn't exactly a morning beauty.

I quickly rushed back to the door and opened it with an awkward smile. Watson and Holmes were of course waiting on the other side. "Good morning, Miss Adkins," Watson said, his cheeks a bit rosier than normal. He politely tipped his hat and tried to regain his stature. Giving a small laugh, I held the door open wider.

"Don't let your discomfort keep you from coming inside. Comfort zones often arise from uncomfortable ones, wouldn't you agree Holmes?"

Holmes glanced towards me with a handsome smirk. I felt my heart beat loudly against my chest, unable to control it. Tightly, I clamped my hands together. "I'm sorry for sleeping in," I apologized. As much as I loved Watsons's company, I wished to speak to Holmes alone. My mind was racking with thoughts and I wanted to talk to the only man I knew that could give me answers.

Practically reading my mind, Holmes placed a friendly hand on his shoulder. "I know your own curiosity is measurable to that of a five year old, but I must insist you step out for a moment." Watson frowned, not taking the insult too well. Holmes merely raised his eyebrows and waited for him to step out.

"Alright," he said, maturely adjusting his waistcoat. "But tell me; when was the last time you saw a five year old carrying around a pipe?" Holmes was about to point out the obvious; Watson had no pipe, until he managed to pull Holmes's from his pocket, stick it in his mouth, light it up, and walk out the door with a bemused smile.

Holmes stood aghast at the scene that had just happened. After a moment or two, he stared at me. "You just witnessed this, yes?" I didn't answer and tried my best not to break out into a laugh. I nodded quickly as my smile began to slip onto my face. Holmes looked as though he wanted too as well, but instead rejected it and turned his back to me. I continued smiling though, knowing he was just as frivolous on the inside. "How was your rest?" He asked smoothly.

"I don't know," I answered with a chuckle. "I was hoping you could tell me." Holmes quickly dropped the book he was picking up, having it crash onto a large box of bottles. I gasped as the bottles hit other books, which hit other numerous things, overall resulting in a very loud, unorganized mess. "...A-Are you alright?" I asked after we both caught our breath.

"Of... course," he said slowly. "When aren't I?" He gestured towards the disaster area. "This was merely part of my plan to reorganize the place." He patted a small wooden book case. The weakly standing last part of the catastrophe fell over as well with a loud thud. "…That, however, was not."

I tried to stifle my laughter, but amused with everything that was happening, I could not seem to control it. Holmes spun around and glanced at me with a hint of misunderstanding. Pathetically, I fell back onto the couch, shaking my head. "Don't worry. It's my job to clean it up anyway."

He inclined his head, bowing a bit. "Why thank you. I suspect no one heard a thing." The crash must have sent me spiraling back into reality.

"Wait, where were you this morning? How late did I sleep?"

"Far too late, Miss Adkins. You missed out on quite the show."

My face suddenly grew hot as further memories entered my conscience. "Last night I came here because there were kiss marks on my door. The murderer was coming after me and…" It suddenly dawned upon me. "We never went to go investigate." I shot up from the couch, my head hurting. "How could you do that? How could you let me come here and distract you from something so important?"

"Because I knew it would happen."

"I mean, honestly! How could you let such a momentous and easy thing be-" I stopped instantly, my mind rewinding back to Holmes's words. I felt my legs weakening beneath me as I softly whispered, "What do you mean… _I knew it would happen_?"

"I often find hidden meanings in words are useless and only for the people who horribly lack cleverness. Actions speak louder than words," Holmes said as he adjusted his striped tie. "Therefore, I mean what I say, and vice versa."

My breath was escaping my throat quicker than what I would have liked it too. Meekly, I felt my legs give out as I crashed to the floor. I looked up to see Holmes in front of me on his knees as well, his supporting hands holding me up. "Why didn't you tell me?" I muttered. "I-I could have died if I hadn't come over here! I could have… frozen there on my doorstep, unable to move from fear!"

"I knew you wouldn't Renadale," he said, his voice calm and smooth like water.

Shaking my head, I didn't want to believe him. Somehow, I was imagining everything in the worst possible way and feeling anger towards him. My mind was rejecting him without my heart's consent. "How? How could you possibly know?"

"I'm a detective. You were difficult to read at first, but I got through to you. I knew you would come running to me, right when we paused in that alley way. You looked far too long into my eyes than an unmarried woman should to a man, and for that, I knew that despite your fear you would want the comforting arms of someone... and would come here."

I sat, bewitched by the words flowing from him. "If that's true," I whispered. "Then why did you wait _here_? Why didn't you wait there with me to catch the murderer? I just don't understand," I confessed pathetically. "If I came here for comforting arms, why did you give them to me? Why you, of all people?"

He opened his mouth quickly to respond, but then shut it, thinking otherwise. His eyes skimmed my face over for a moment. When he replied, it took me a moment to realize that it truly was him saying his next words. "I wanted to give them to you." Both of our expressions lit up in shock, before Holmes had to trample on the romantic situation, yet again. "Being in a business-like meaning, of course. I couldn't have my partner fretting all the time when she should be concentrating on the case, right?" He shook his head dramatically. "Of course not, you must agree."

"What if I hadn't of come? What if I would have-"

"Don't," Holmes said, chuckling nervously. "Don't even bother with that, because it would only look ghastly on my part."

"What, you're more worried about your reputation than my well being?" I was only teasing him, but his stiff reactions were amusing to dote upon. "If I were to have been killed by those wretched beasts, would you not wish you would have known me more? Or, was it really _all_ for the sake of work?" Holmes sat silently as I looked at him. "Don't answer," I said as I let him go. "I understand entirely." I whispered.

"Miss Adkins," he said. I looked up as my loud heart still beat with fear. "Before we step out, I think its best that I warn you of Watson and I's discoveries." He changed the topic, but I didn't mind. Our conversation was over and would be saved for another time.

"Discoveries?" I asked softly. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Well, I believe the case is solved."

~.~.~.~.~

_Three knocks at the door. Quick, rhythmic and recognizable. Holmes shifted over in his bed, not wanting to move the delicate creature next to him. Another three knocks. Holmes took one last glance at her; one last glance at her long, soft curls framing her Grecian face and her thick lashes that casted shadows on her cheeks. Three more knocks. Grumbling, Holmes crawled off the bed, tossing on his jacket before opening the door. "Watson," he said, not surprised. "You look dashing."_

_"The police have summoned us," he said, raising his brows with a smile. Holmes couldn't contain his grin either. "Apparently, they've got someone. They won't confess to anything, whether murderer or accomplice, but overall Lestrade has something and we must go immediately." _

_"Of course," Holmes whispered softly, grabbing his hat before shutting the door behind him. "It'll be shocking if the Scotland Yard actually have done their job."_

_Watson laughed humorously as they began to descend the steps. "Try and be nice, for once. They gladly took up a job that was supposed to be yours last night." His eyes glanced over to his friend who seemed to be thinking of something else. "Was that who I thought it was in your room?"_

_"Certainly not," Holmes muttered before shoving his pipe into his mouth. Watson expected him to elaborate, but he said nothing more._

_"Why so little endorsement?" Watson snickered, swinging his cane in the air. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you left your tongue back in the room with Miss Adkins." Holmes couldn't help but choke a bit on his pipe from shock. "Surely you're not embarrassed." _

_"Embarrassed? I don't think that word is in my wide range vocabulary," They turned a corner and entered the early streets of London already flooded with people._

_As they were walking closer to the station, Watson couldn't help but say something to his friend. Saying it however, would have to be taken slow. "Listen," he sighed heavily. Holmes caught his gaze for a moment, knowing what he was about to elaborate on. "It's nothing you should be ashamed of… to be intrigued by a woman." Holmes nodded mutely. She certainly wasn't the first. "All I'm saying is; don't let her suffer and ignore her after the case." _

"_How can I ignore a woman like her?" He said, with a quick chuckle. Watson's brows shot up in surprise at his somewhat caring statement. "Suppose Watson, that this sort of talk is more for the female gender, which is why I'm responding so little." _

_Watson's face felt hot as they walked up the steps of the station. "Of course, Holmes," he mumbled beneath his breath, ringing the bell. "If you do ever need to talk…" Holmes shot him a sharp expression. Watson stopped talking. He simply nodded. "She's lovely, though."_

"_Do you ever know when to stop?" Holmes patted his friend on the back as the door opened. Lestrade stood on the other end with his eyes glimmering. "I can see by your tight grip on the door that you have exciting news for us, and don't know how exactly to express it without showing your arrogance." Holmes stated monotonously. _

"_Put out your pipe," Lestrade said, smiling. "And then I'll let you in to talk."_

_Holmes did as told, shoving it back into his pocket and walking inside with his partner. Lestrade led them to his office, snatching a few papers off the desk. "Why are you so excited?" Holmes asked curiously, noting his frantic manner._

"_Two deaths, no lead," he said, still with a laugh in his voice. "And finally, your brain switches on and tells me where to go." He spun around, shaking his head. "How did you know where to send my men? How did you know the murderer would go to Miss Adkins home?"_

"_I didn't," Holmes said, creasing his brows. "I knew either the murderer himself or the murderer's men would be there. Which one it would be, I couldn't tell you." Watson looked over at him friend with a smirk. He always had to make everything more difficult. _

_Lestrade sighed, shrugging and leading them back out of the office. "Avoid the real question if you will, but we've got what we wanted and that's certainly all that matters." The three of them left the station, heading now for the jail cells. "Her mother was awfully torn up. She was so frightened when we came to her. She couldn't stop weeping and shaking, asking where her daughter was." Lestrade looked behind him at Holmes, a somewhat sympathetic look in his eyes. "We told her she was with you and the old woman calmed down instantly. Is there affection in you Holmes, or was that all a part of your plan too?" Watson quickly looked over at his friend, afraid of his answer. Holmes simply stared at his feet as he walked. _

"_We caught him in her neighbor's house," Lestrade said slowly. He was shaking his head back and forth, as if disappointed. "We figured he must not have left after kissing the doors, if Renadale wasn't home yet. He was waiting to get her from behind." Watson noted Holmes's clenched fists. "Hiding in his old victim's house, we caught him as giddy as a dog. He couldn't stop laughing... the mad bastard."_

"_I would ask you to describe him," Holmes sighed. "Yet, it looks like I'm about to find out for myself." The three of them paused outside of the jail cells, all a bit hesitant to go in, though none of them would confess it. Surely, not Holmes. Everything was coming too easily in this case, he noticed, and walking in there and finding the murderer seemed too easy. But, there it was. Sighing, he stepped inside. Lestrade waited outside, but Watson followed closely behind. _

"_This way, detective," one of the guards said, taking him to the further edge of the prison. Watson's breathing was picking up, but Holmes remained calm. _

"_Does this seem strange to you?" Watson whispered to him as they continued to walk. "It's like this has come so easily. This murderer let himself get caught, just like that." _

"_Sometimes the simplest of answers is the right one, dear Watson," Holmes said smoothly. "Cases aren't always puzzles. The fact that we didn't place him here ourselves does seem a bit out of character, however." _

_Watson offered his friend a small smile. "It could have been us. Yet, you knew Renadale would see those kisses and come running to you. You sacrificed getting the fame for her," he said jovially. Holmes sighed heavily, not responding. After a moment or two however, he smiled back at his friend._

_The lights flickered above them. "Don't mind those," the guard said as the walls seemed to get smaller, older and darker. "We tried out some new lights around these areas, but they're all a bit shaky. New lights," he said, shrugging. "You know how it is." _

_He stopped in front of a small, dark cell. Holmes and Watson carefully eyed one another before glancing inside. "So, if it isn't Holmes and Watson," the deep voice said slowly. _

_Watson cringed. The voice of a man- the man who kissed the doors of innocent women, before killing them off was positively frightening. Why did he adress them so informally? Did he know them? Mary flashed in his mind quickly. He shut his eyes, imaging her soft hand in his. He gripped it tighter, feeling his strength boost._

_Holmes stared at the silhouette. The voice was familiar to him. His heart was beating faster than it had been last night when Renadale grabbed him, sobbing. Standing in front of the cell, he could feel her dark curls brushing against his face. Then, her soft lips against his skin. He wanted to shut his eyes and get away from where he was now, but he pushed the thought aside sadly. He had to focus on the man in front of him. By paying attention to him, he was saving Renadale. He was saving her from her nightmares. "Miss Adkins," Holmes said smoothly. "Quite an interesting subject you picked."_

"_Interesting?" the voice laughed. Their face was towards the small window above their head, sunlight blackening their body. "The fact that you find it so, is what's interesting." _

"_Your attacks were towards women who had social differences." Holmes narrowed his gaze. "Yet you went for her. A woman with a loving family, a good job, and a nice home." Cocking his head to the side, Holmes had to admit it to him self. He really didn't know why the murderer chose her._

"_The great Sherlock Holmes can't figure out what's wrong with a simple woman?" The voice howled with laughter. The guard smacked his club against the cell rails, demanding his silence. "She has bewitched you, hasn't she?" Holmes stayed silent, a bit taken aback by the words he had just heard. "You're not too hard to read yourself, Holmes. Yet, you can't figure out your little friend. Before she met you what was she like?" _

"I never went out," Renadale said, smiling embarrassingly. "I locked myself away, just me and my inventions."

_The memory popped back into Holmes's head quickly. "An inventor," he said. "She locked herself away from the world." _

"_Exactly," the voice said, getting the point across._

"_If you're so proud," Watson spat angrily. "Turn around and show yourself. Or are you afraid you're too easily readable too, hm? Is that it?" _

_The voice snickered again. "I know for a fact that isn't the case. Why? Because I can tell by your voices, you have no idea who I am." Turning around, his face was still dark to the two detectives. "I don't mind showing you though," he said easily. "You two don't scare me terribly. I'm proud of my work, just like you said Dr. Watson." _

_Before either of the men could get another word out, the man stepped forward into the newly installed light, and to Watson and Holmes's surprise, they stared in the familiar face of Henry. _


	17. Illogical Needs

… … … **:[ I'm sorry. I can explain, but I'm not going to. Here's the new update. I'm trying as hard as I can guys, I really am. Don't bail on me though! I'll get them to you, I'm not going to stop. DON'T EVER THINK THAT.**

**By the way, if anyone watches Criminal Minds, how great was that episode last night? Don't know about you, but I thought it was fantastic. (Pertaining to the whole crime scene… it somewhat connects to this story. That is the relevance in it.)**

**KEEP READING! KEEP GIVIN' HOLMES LOVE! **

**~mistro**

**~.~.~.~**

I stood, my wide eyes somewhat mocking Holmes as I stared at him. His face was cold and statute-like. I knew then that he wasn't kidding. Of course he wasn't. Why would he bother making a joke every once and a while, when there's no need for it? Holmes was a sensible man, and when I realized that, I realized the gravity of the situation. "You're entirely serious?" I was trying to keep the light mood up, but my voice cracked, ruining the plan.

Holmes glanced around the room awkwardly. "Am I ever not?"

Defensively, I raised my hands. "Excuse me," I sighed heavily, shutting my eyes. "Are you trying to convince me that that plump little bearded man that has been kind to me and you, is the one who caused this?" Holmes stayed silent. "He's the one who has treated me with the utmost respect, but decided that he wanted to finish me off?" I noticed my voice raising with every word, but the fear in me couldn't surpress it.

"Is there something else you noted?" He replied quickly, his thick brow raising in unquestionable amusement. We both knew I was only babbling to calm myself down. "Would there be any other reason for him to be in that prison cell?"

I winced before I answered. "Not paying for a paper?"

"Miss Adkins," he said, narrowing his brows together and walking over towards me. I held my breath as he stood inches away from me. For a moment, his eyes scanned my shoulders. After a second, his hands found them and gave them a light pat. "There is all the proof in the world."

"Is there?" I took his hands from my shoulders but did not let go. I felt them become warmer in my own. It was a clear sign of his heartrate picking up.

"Numerous details, in fact," he said smoothly. "The red wing stood for something other than bloodshed, but rather the simple example of his hair color. He also happens to have a relative of some distance in parliament and since there really were no large rallies, the simple threat to destroy his secrets made him convince the other members well enough."

"Secrets?" I questioned. "What secrets does his cousin have?"

Holmes's lip twitched before he answered. "That, I did not care to figure out." I nodded and noted it in my head: Cousin, unimportant detail. "However, besides his own confession, they've inspected the handwriting to be similar to that on the card."

I gripped his hands tighter in mine. I wasn't sure if it was out of hesitancy or rather, because I simply liked the feel of someone being there with me. "How do you know he did not work for someone? He can lie, he can be loyal, just like the russian was."

Sherlock cracked a quick smile. "Loyalty comes at a price, I believe."

There was a long silence between us. It wasn't until Holmes squeezed my hands a bit tighter and let them loose from his, that I noticed he wanted me to speak. "I'm alright," I said my voice cracking. My eyes were brimming with tears as my mind dawned upon the fact that a murderer, who seemed sweet, was planning to kill me all along. "Without you, I don't think I would be."

I expected a common grunt or shrug in return. Something that would merely blow away the compliment was expected, but instead, a look of sorrow passed his tired face. "Do not thank me. I was the one who put you here, Miss Adkins."

I shook my head quickly and stepped closer to him. "That's the furthest thing from the truth I've heard in quite some time, Mister Holmes," I whispered softly, wishing he would look at me and not the wall behind me. Annoyed, I took his chin gently under my palm and turned his face towards me. I wasn't sure where the sudden confidence came from, but I wanted it all the same. "If it were your fault, I wouldn't have it any other way."

He paused, his eyes shimmering for a moment. I smiled at this, knowing that what I saw was not in fact my imagination, because he smiled back.

~.~.~.~

"The case represents something of a controversy," Lestrade explained to Watson later that day. Watson was shifting from foot to foot, nervously awaiting for Lestrade to finish speaking so he could go back home. He knew Renadale and Holmes were safe and comforting one another back home and though he wouldn't take part in it, certainly not, but why did he have to be here? After all, he wasn't the head detective. _Should't he be here? _Watson thought to himself while Lestrade's voice was ringing in the back of his head. _I wonder what Mary's doing right now. Oh, I would love some of her lemon pie. _"Mr. Watson, I know it is in fact a tedious day, and will only continue to get this way until the hanging, but surely you're not ignoring me?"

Watson looked up to apologize quickly, but noted the smile on his face. "Pardon me," he said quickly. "There's just a few things running through my head that I'm trying to remember to inform Holmes of."

Lestrade nodded firmly before taking on a more somber tone. "Dr. Watson, the case that has presented itself is something that I do not wish to get into. The fact of the matter is that, yes, this man did attempt to kill one woman after the success of two, but the reasons behind it are clear. He wanted to gain order and equality for people who are different than you and me and in my opinion, that is very noble."

Watson shook his head gravely. "His means by coming about it are in no way to even be compared to his motives. There is no reward for this. The council might consider some law for the man's protest, but the man himself must leave the Earth."

"You're a bright man," Lestrade said, carefully nodding his head. "I don't doubt that in the least. I only hope that when you test to see of his death…" Lestrade stopped, narrowing his eyes. "Being _extra _careful this time; I hope you might consider mentioning the ideas of his to others in your future."

Watson was amused by this somewhat childish pep talk. "Certainly. I agree with equal rights, there's no doubt about that professor."

"Forgive me," he laughed. "I do not do this to teach you the methods of being polite, as though you are a child, doctor." Well, at least he knew what he sounded like, Watson thought. "I merely say so because Henry was not only going after women. In fact, I think his final victim was going to be someone very different from anyone any of us have ever met."

Watson stood, his breath picking up rapid speed. Who on Earth was he talking about? And why in such a manner? Had he no dignity? "I don't presume you mean my boss now, do you inspector?" Lestrade said nothing. He looked down at his desk and began straightening papers. "What on Earth makes you think that he was going after him?"

"The fact that that secret pass beneath Miss Adkins's neighbor's home led to an empty roon. That empty room's electricity was connected to that of yours, Dr. Watson." Watson freezed for a moment. "We inspected the area by your house that carried the rest of the machinery, only to find a very similar passage way leading up into your building's cellar."

Watson stood very silent, nodding his head gravely. "... And when you asked him about it?"

"Nothing." Lestrade shrugged. "No response. Sometimes it sounded like he was crying actually, but I didn't have my men bother to check." Watson grew silent for a moment. "I would be crying too if I knew what was coming." Lestrade said coldly.

~.~.~.~

"My God!" Mother shrieked when she opened the door to see me and Sherlock standing on the other side of it. She embraced both of us in an instant, her large arms barely fitting around the two of us. She began to mumble and mutter into my chest as though I'd just gotten back from a war.

"Mother, please," I said uncomfortably, shoving her away from Holmes. "Hold me at least, but not him." My mother let out a cry of sadness before embracing me once more. I desperately looked towards Holmes, who merely smiled in all the chaos.

"I thought I was going to lose you!" she cried. "I thought you might have been outside and he might have taken you, but who knew that fine inspector would be there?" I imagined his ferret like face in my mind. I hoped my mother wasn't attracted to him. No, I _prayed_ that wasn't the case. "I owe him my life for saving you."

"Mother, Sherlock was the one who called him out to even do the job." I looked over at him as his brows lifted. My mother was about to rush up to him and thank him, but he raised a hand to stop her.

"I find that releasing your affections in an act of physical contact is no way at all, because then the person expects it again later in your prime happiness,which I do not think you are prepared to give me." He stuck out his hand. "A simple gesture as a handshake will do. Not entirely energetic, but not under-congratulatory either."

My mother shook her head delicately, taking his hand in hers. "Honestly, Mr. Holmes... I don't know what my daughter and I would do without you."

"If that were a real question, I could begin with-"

I shook my head quickly, a small smirk on my face. If he started now, he would never stop. He froze as his jaw came together silently. "Of course, she's safe and well." He gestured towards the door. "If you intend to go inside, I suggest that you go first. Although it would be more polite for a woman to go in second, in case someone dangerous were armed inside the house."

"I never looked at it that way, Mister Holmes," my mother said as she headed inside. "In our case anyways, there might be someone outside however."

Holmes blinked a few times, before narrowing his eyes and shutting the door behind him. "That point is one that I fear I cannot argue with for an extended amount of time." He tipped his hat politely before looking around at our dull enterance room. "Your home is quite nice, but you expected company tonight, correct?"

Her eyes narrowed. I looked between the two of them carefully, excited for my mother to see his deduction methods. Her mind was not the largest and I knew she would be positively blown away by them. "One side of your table is dusted, while the other is not. You were in the middle of cleaning it off before you heard us knock on your door, because your blouse is slightly larger than normal, where you stuffed your rag. You didn't want a dirty old rag lying around on the table, so you merely put it where you sought best."

She looked at me in surprise, then back at him. He waltzed around our living room, his eyes scanning photographs with bemused expressions. She whispered in my ear. "Don't let this one go, dearest." I slapped her quickly on the arm, hoping he hadn't heard her.

"Hush," I warned her under my breath. "He is my boss... and that is all." She looked at me once again, this time her eyes teasing. She knew. We all knew. And with that I sighed heavily and hoped my cheeks weren't growing too red.

~.~.~.~

Watson returned back home later than what he had wanted, only to find that Holmes and Renadale were not in. His eyes scanned the room carefully. Nothing was out of place, so they weren't taken. He snickered at the idea of his friend even being captured. It was illogical; seemingly unrealistic.

"Doctor," he heard a voice chirp behind him. He spun around to see a young maid with a piece of parchment in her delicate hands. "This came for you today, sir."

His eyes scanned the paper that he instantly recognized. He could smell her scent errupting from the paper. Taking it quickly he nodded in gratitude towards the young girl. "Thank you," he said slowly as a grin appeared on his face. Quickly he rushed into his office, already having ripped open the letter.

As he entered his room, he shut the door behind him and fell upon his desk chair to read her carefully scrolled words.

_My dearest John,_

_I have heard news of your exciting case more and more as time passes. I find it strange how even such cases as this get word passed around in such isolated country-sides as the one I am in now. However, I am certainly proud to hear it. I am certainly proud to be sitting here, telling others, that my lovely John is the one on the case. Certainly, to your request, I have not let it pass that Holmes is guiding you along the way, though I wish to give you the utmost credit for it._

_The flowers out here are nice. What do you think about roses for the wedding? Others have told me that it simply too fashionable, and I should go with something new. Something that might start off a new trend. What do you think? How about daisies? They're rather youthful and innocent, don't you agree? I certainly hope you and I are youthful and innocent._

_I wish I could be there with you, my love, talking to you about these things rather than putting my thoughts away in this pen. It comforts me to know that you are out there, reading it. I will return to you soon, my dearest, forget that not. I shall always return to you._

_Yours,_

_Mary. _

Watson sighed heavily, his eyes reading the paper once more. He looked at her carefully curved letters, his heart swelling in excitement. _Perhaps, _he thought. _Though I must attend to a dreadful hanging tomorrow, the world has not frowned upon me yet. _

Even in times of darkness he had someone there. He thought about Holmes and smiled to himself. Now, it seemed, Holmes was starting to have someone as well. Someone who wasn't going to leave him with a broken heart like _the _woman. Watson shuddered after thinking of this. "Holmes in love," he laughed aloud. "Proposterous."

~.~.~.~

We were about to leave when I stopped Holmes at the doorway, whispering to him so my mother could not hear as she cleaned plates in the kitchen. "The company she was expecting was us," I whispered softly. He nodded, picking up on that notion as well. "I'd feel horrid if I left her here alone."

"I thought that to be the plan all along, Miss Adkins."

"Yes, of course. Well... good night then, Mister Holmes." He blinked a few times, his eyes not leaving mine. I paused and caught my breath. "Is there… anything else I can do for you?"

He smiled not a smirk or a snicker, but a real smile. I felt my teeth show in return, my heart pumping blood faster than what was probably considered safe. "You do make me awfully nervous, Mister Holmes."

"Thank you, Miss Adkins."

"You consider it a compliment, sir?"

He raised his brows. "Wouldn't you, Miss Adkins?"

I shook my head sternly. "Of course not. Causing one displeasure would certainly not be on a list of a young ladies complimentary strategies."

"Perhaps not," he said quickly. "Then again if the discomfort was to be caused in form a compliment that the other does not realize until that complimentor has left then, I suppose it would satisfactory, Miss Adkins." He paused. "Or is that not so?"

"I would have to agree, Mister Holmes." Our strict formality was making both of us feel a bit lightheaded, but we stuck to our game for the sake of my mother overhearing. I grabbed the door knob and pulled it open wide. "I certainly hope you have a splendid walk home, sir."

"And it would be too much to impose that you came with me?" He asked quickly.

I was at a loss for words. Once again, I couldn't tell if he was serious of not. "Is it not so that you made me nervous because of your resentment towards that very idea? And from that hesitancy that I created, you went off into how it was actually a compliment far too greater than one that should be given, yet you dare to invite me back to your home?" He paused, his eyes wide in shock. Even I surprised myself. "How dare you, Mister Holmes." A smile broke out onto my face though I tried to be serious. "I must ask you to leave immediately."

Tilting his hat, he stepped outside the door. "Excuse my forward nature. Perhaps when I get into such games, I become far too opposite of my true self. And we should never be nothing but what we are, isn't that right, Renadale?"

"Yes," I said softly, placing my hand over his on the doorknob. "Yes, of course... Sherlock."

"Sherlock? Surely you're not imposing that we're on a first name basis, Miss Adkins." I laughed gayly at his words, quickly snatching the handle away from him.

"You are a dry fool, sir," I said, before shutting the door and falling against it in a dream-like sigh after he left. Despite everything I'd been through, I knew it would be okay. Everything would be alright. Tomorrow Henry would go somewhere that he would never return from and I would be safe. I would be safe with my partners.

Yes. Everything was going to be just fine.

~.~.~.~

"You're going to watch him tonight, yes?" One guard said to the other. "I've been keeping an eye on him all day today." He tossed him the keys. "I'll be back by the morning."

"Stop your blubbering and go on," the guard said, shooing him off. Sighing heavily, he looked around the dark hallway. One cell was at the very end and he could see the silhouette sitting sadly on his cot. "It's awfully quiet, don't you agree?" The guard sighed, leaning against the wall.

"I suppose you could say that, yes," Henry answered.

"Parliament's got quite of a scare from you, I've heard." He chuckled. "What does it feel like? Getting the satisfaction you want from someone as powerful as them? The idea isn't even comprehensible in my mind."

"Terrrible wife?"

"Terrible wife," he answered sternly. "I wouldn't be surprised if she were related to half of the freaks I see coming in here every day. Insane, her family is. It's almost strange why people marry them to begin with."

Henry snickered. "Insanity might decay the wise, but it makes a stronger fool."

The guard grunted. "Alright, if you say so. I didn't mean to get all defensive before you, but honestly, you don't have much time. Don't you want to take it back?"

"Are you a doctor?" Henry hissed. The guard said nothing. "Then I suggest you stop talking and let me think."

There was about an hour of silence between the two. The guard occasionally glanced up at the light dangling ahead of him, the light flickering pathetically. "I think I ought to rip that light right out of it's socket. Electricity is really just a dangerous and foolish idea, don't you agree?"

Sighing heavily, Henry let out an aggitated; "No."

The guard leaned against the jail bars. "I guess it might be more useful when they're easier to manage."

"I couldn't agree with you more," Henry said, standing up. The guard hadn't noticed how much closer he was getting to him, and with something sharp in his hands.

"I mean, what's wrong with candles? People these days aren't poor enough to buy candles are they?" He scoffed. "The very thought of it is unrealistic, don't you agree?"

"Oh, certainly," he said into the guard's ear. Only the man didn't turn around in time. Henry got a grab of his neck and stabbed it with a large peice of wood from the bed cot. The man slumped over, suddenly lifeless, the soul drained from him faster than any sane man might want to see. Henry then took the keys that were swinging from his fingers only seconds before he dropped them and pushed it in the lock.

Things were too easy.


	18. The Roof

**The editor in my is very sore and tired from six hours of roller rinking, so please forgive me as I doze off to sleep for any errors... Or crappy sentences... but I do hope you enjoy this chapter. :D **

**By the way, Sherlock Holmes comes out Tuesday~ OMFGGGG**

**~mistro**

The next morning, I was at a crime scene. My legs were shaking beneath my dress, but I clamped my hands together so no one could tell that those were shaking too. Holmes eyed them curiously, but I looked up at him with a hesitant smile. "It's freezing in here," I whispered. I looked away from him and back to the open cell door, hoping he wouldn't notice my fearful eyes.

I had been woken up early that morning. Earlier than I would have liked... Holmes burst into my room as I was still sleeping, gently hauling me out of bed and telling me to get dressed. He could have gone with out me, but he waited patiently. He never spoke of what was wrong, he just ordered me to come with him.

The rain was even harder now than it was before. As I left my house with Holmes, it fell down upon both of us, instantly turning our clothes a shade darker. He walked slightly ahead of me towards the prison, but once we got closer, he stopped short. I slowly made my way up to him. "Everything alright?" I asked nervously, knowing that of course it wasn't. He had gotten me up at a ridiculous hour, without saying what was wrong.

His eyes skimmed the area for a moment before meeting mine. "I am sincerely asking you to do me a favor," he said, raising his dark brows. "I must ask you to remain calm." Narrowing me eyes, I made no promise. "He got out." Holmes reached in his pocket for his pipe, but stopped with a grumble as he recalled the rain.

Droplets fell down my face, but I couldn't tell if they were tears or if it was just the rain. "What... are you saying..." I whispered, so softly that I could barely hear it.

"He broke through the cell and killed the guard," Holmes said. I could hear a hint of frustration in his voice. "When dealing with cases such as him, however, he has to finish what he started." I blinked, waiting for something I knew would be upsetting. "He won't kill any more, until he finds you."

My hand instantly shot out, gripping his tightly in my hand. I winced in fear, but I felt his grip tighten. We stared at one another through the rain, my chin quivering. I knew I was crying now. "Don't say that," I murmured. "Please, don't say that."

He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it quickly. He merely nodded. We stood there for a moment, our fingers locked around one another. Nervously, my thumb began to circle his skin. I saw him tense up at the affection gesture, but I took a step forward anyways. His eyes darted around in confusion. "I must warn you, Miss Adkins," he said, this time the hesitancy evident in his voice. "If someone were to-"

"Let them see," I said, narrowing my brows tightly. "What do you care if they see?" He paused a moment, taking in a heavy breath.

"Reputations are often curt words one paints upon others," he said as I inched even closer. His fingers twidled nervously inside my palm. I smiled. For once, he was the nervous one. He cracked a quick smile, before covering it up again with a frown. "Yet it doesn't make-"

"Would you just stop talking?" I murmured, my hand finding the back of his neck. Without a second guess, but certainly with a surprise, I felt his arms find their way around my waist. Both of our eyes got significantly larger. "See?" I laughed softly. "It's not so bad." You didn't have to be a genius to know what was going to come next, but of course, with the day already being awful Lestrade burst outside right before our lips met.

"Holmes," he said bluntly, not seeming to care about the situation we were in. "We need you inside immediately." Without an explination, he walked inside.

I looked up at Holmes as his eyes followed Lestrade. Our arms had left each other a moment ago. Self consciously, I crossed them over my chest. "Let's hurry," I said, rushing inside. Holmes followed not far behind me.

Somehow, I felt foolish for trying to kiss him. Was he the kind of man you could just wake up in the morning, and kiss without a care in the world? I didn't think so. I felt as though he was the kind of man who had to hold you first. He was the one who had to lead. My heart skipped a beat. Would he ever try to kiss me?

We stopped short in front of a cell near the back, with cops all over the place. Watson looked up as we approached, rushing over to our side. "Where have you been?" He scoffed, a slight smile on his face. "You two are soaking wet!"

Holmes grunted, adjusting his hat lower towards his eyes. "Don't remind me."

I looked over at Watson with a smile. "His pipe is faulty." Watson looked between us for a moment, before cracking a quick smile. Despite the crime scene, Watson still managed to be happy. I knew he was thinking about Mary, but his simple smile made me feel so much better as well.

"He slit his throat and took his keys," I overheard Lestrade say to another cop. "He couldn't have left through the entrance, because more guards were posted there. He had to of left somehow though. We've searched the area, and he's not in here."

Holmes was already moving. I watched his eyes look up towards the celing. They traveled furthur down the hall, where they stopped. Everything was black down the hall, but Holmes seemed to have seen something no one else did. Not entirely uncommon. "How new are your light structures?" Holmes said, interrupting Lestrade's conversation.

Lestrade looking at him curiously. His eyes then shifted towards a now burnt out bulb on the celing. "Extremely. They were only put in a few days ago," he said, scratching his head. "Have you figured something out Holmes?" Without saying anything, he walked furthur down the hallway, Lestrade shouting after him. "Holmes! Detective, please, what-"

Holmes suddenly disappeared from view, either turning a corner, or perhaps the blackness englufed him. I swallowed, not pleased with the darkness that was before me, but I headed towards it anyways. "Renadale!" I heard Watson scoff, but I soon felt him on my heels.

I continued to walk foward, until everything became so dark I couldn't even see where I was. Watson and I were both breathing heavily. "How far away are we?" I whispered to him.

"I can't even see them," he said, spinning around in circles. There wasn't a single drop of light. "This is insanity," he chuckled, but I knew he was just as frightened as I was. "Holmes!" He shouted. There was no answer. I felt his hand find mine. "Let's not lose one another, yes?"

"Very much agreed," I said, nodding. We continued to walk furthur. I held one palm out, in case I hit a wall. The only problem was that I hadn't been paying attention to my feet. I felt something hard beneath me, and I stumbled forward, almost taking Watson down with me.

"Are you alright Renadale?" He asked quietly, hauling me back up.

I nodded. "Yes, I'm quite alright. I tripped over something though..." Crouching back down on the cold ground, I drug my hands all over the floor, trying to find what it was that caused my stumble. My thin fingers soon gripped a small, circular object. "It feels like a handle," I whispered. "I must admit, I'm not excited to open it."

"I'll do it," Watson sighed, crouching down, his hand also grabbing the cold handle. "If it is a handle, one of us is sitting on the door." I felt down around my feet, feeling a different texture than before.

"It's me," I said, crawling over to him. "Alright, you can open it now."

With a loud creak, Watson struggled to push open the large door. I helped him haul it up. Once it was completely open, we looked down the hatch. We could see stairs, with a small sliver of light beaming through. "Holmes?" I shouted, hoping that was who was down there.

A few second later, he was at the bottom of the stairs, a bemused grin on his face and a match in his hand. "Aha, it seems as though you've found me. Perhaps you really are worthy of something, my dear old boy."

Watson grumbled something harsh beneath his breath, before crawling down the stairs. "If this weren't an important job, I would honestly be rethinking my career options. When I get married, mark your words Holmes, I'll never return to his profession again."

"No, Watson, mark your words," he said as Watson hopped down next to him. "You will realize that the dull, married life is not the one for you, though you will be happy. You will miss getting your hands dirty Watson."

Watson smirked, shaking his head back and forth. "You're always so certain."

"Soap was not invented for clean, married hands," he said, nudging him, then lighting a second match. "That's why sometimes you have to afford to get yourself a bit dirty."

I joined them below a few moments later, looking around a place that was seemingly familiar. "You're joshing me right?" I laughed, realizing that the room was just like the one below Emily's house. "That's why the power is out. That's how he knew to get out of here." Holmes and Watson stayed silent, both nodding their heads. "How does he know about all of these places though?"

Watson curiously examined the area. Dirt was crumbling off the walls as we spoke. "Somehow he must do his research. Perhaps he helped install the lighting fixture."

"He seemed like a sweet man when I first met him, but he wasn't there every morning. He could have easily of had a second job," I said, unable to hide my shuddering. My voice cracked and grew down into another whisper. "He really did seem so sweet."

Watson didn't seem to hear me, because he continued to look around the area. Holmes turned towards me however, his dark eyes sad. I looked up at him, surprised to see that he was in fact looking at me. Something in his eyes surprised me, but I couldn't put my finger on what he was trying to tell me.

I had always known that he was handsome. His strong jaw, his large eyes, and all of his dark features. They were all evident, with a single look. Yet, when I was staring at him then, only a small match illuminating his face, my heart twisted into a knot. He was really beautiful.

"There's got to be another door out of here, right?" Watson said, breaking me of my thoughts. Holmes seemed surprised too, also jumping a bit.

"Yes," he replied, walking in the opposite direction of Watson. He flung open another door, looking up a makeshift staircase. Without another word, he began to climb up it, before he disappeared once again.

I went next, my foot slipping a few times, but Watson was always there to spot my fall. Both of us scrambled to the top, finding Holmes standing in another empty room. His match was out, because light was streaming in through the windows. I slowly made my way over to one, watching horses and people walk across the rainy street, another simple day before my eyes. "He did the same thing," I sighed heavily. "It's exactly the same."

"Which shows that he's coming for you," Watson said. Holmes and him exchanged glances towards one another, but I kept my gaze outside. "If you stay with one of us, Renadale, then I think you should be fine. Us, or Lestrade. Someone, any of the cops."

I spun around on my heels, my eyes glancing at the floor. Both of them could tell I was nervous. "You'll stay with me," Holmes said without hesitation. I jumped, looking up with wide eyes. "Your mother must leave as well."

"I can find a hotel for her," I said, nodding. There wasn't any way my large mother was going to fit on the couch in Holmes room. She could have slept on the floor, but she was a much more proper woman than that. It wouldn't have pleased her. Holmes nodded, his eyes glancing around the room.

"Should we head back?" Watson said curiously.

"No," I answered for Holmes. "Lestrade and his men can deal with the crime scene. We've got to find Henry. Standing in a jail cell all day won't help us in that effort." A quick smirk passed Holmes face. "To find him, we've got to think like him. Where would he go?"

All of us were quiet for a second. "Parliment," Holmes said. We waited for him to reach furthur into detail, but he said nothing more. Watson and I nodded in agreement, having nothing else to input. If Holmes said that's where he went, then, that's where he went.

"I'll go get us a carriage," Watson said, leaving the room. I was about to follow him, but I felt a strong grip on my arm. With a surprised squeak, I spun around. Before I could even say anything, I felt someone's lips come crashing down on mine. My eyes were cracked open in surprise, my heart about to break through my chest. When I pulled away, I looked Holmes carefully in the face.

I couldn't read him, but I didn't care. It was my turn to kiss him now, and I broke the space with a gentle touch of my lips against his. I felt him move closer to me, his arms finding my waist with some sense of urgency I had never seen before. He broke the next gap, and then both of us found each other simultaniously. "Don't leave me," I whispered against his lips, my fingers lingering on his cheek. I was so scared something was going to happen to me, or my mother. Holmes was the only person, or thing I was finding solace in. He shook his head, not needing to say another word. He wouldn't leave me. We both knew it. "Why are you kissing me?" I asked after our lips parted once again. Both of us were breathing heavily. My hands sunk lower down his chest, gripping the buttons on his rugged jacket. He blinked a few times, not sure of what to say. I shook my head. "Don't answer." I pressed myself against him, my head resting in his chest. My heart was melting, so was his. I could hear it beating through his jacket, a small smile cracking on my face.

His hand traveled slowly up my back, nesting themselves in my long curls. We stood like that for what seemed like hours, when we knew it was only a moment. "Watson's probably wondering where we are," I said softly. I wished we could have stayed there all day, but sometimes your wishes aren't always granted. Holmes nodded, and we broke away from each other. "To parliment?"

"To parliment."

~.~.~.~.~.~

"Yes, he was here," a slender, rather young blonde man said to the three of us when we had arrived. The man was Henry's cousin, the person he was sending threats to in order to get his word in with parliment. "He came by early this morning. I didn't know he was even held in captivity, or I would have ordered a guard to come..." His voice faded as he looked down at a photo of Henry.

"The news hadn't been passed around entirely," I explained. "We wanted to let everyone know when he was actually dead." I saw his cousin flinch a bit.

"I barely knew the guy. I knew that he was of course my cousin, distantly. He used me to tell everyone about how there weren't enough equal rights. I agreed with him of course, but he was using such brash action to get the word out. Honestly, I was frightened of him. I think we all were. He only wanted us to listen."

"He did so by murdering innocent girls," Watson said. "That's why we've got to find him as soon as possible. Did he happen to mention where he was going later today?"

The blonde man, named Jeremiah paused for a moment to recollect his thoughts. "He never said anything of the sort, unless there was a hidden message I missed. He was shaking horridly, I was about to offer him my jacket. He didn't meet my eyes, so I knew he was nervous. He's rarely nervous. He's always been self confident, but not today. He came up to me and told me to deliver the news that he would take London without cover. I didn't know what he was talking about, he seemed raving mad."

"Without cover?" I repeated. I shifted my attention towards Holmes. "Would that mean that he would be going somewhere-"

"No police would find him, yes. Which means that as long as you're around us, you should be fine." Holmes looked back up at Jeremiah. "Is that all?"

"That's all he had said anyways. I thought if he would have said something else he would have fallen over. He was trembling so bad... I'm sorry I didn't gather more information. Yet, that's all he said. He left just as soon as he had came."

The three of us nodded, thanking him for everything. As we left, all of us stayed quiet, thoughts running through our minds. "He was going to take London without cover," I said aloud. "Somewhere where there will be nobody watching."

"Somewhere common, perhaps?"

Holmes shook his head. "That's where everyone is watching."

"So, you're saying that he literally means an empty area. Not somewhere without the police?" Watson asked. Holmes merely nodded, lighting his dry pipe. "The only place I can think of without people would be the edges of town, out in the country. Or perhaps the ship yard around lunch."

"Or the rooftops," I laughed, trying to lighten the mood.

Holmes spoke up. "Yes."

Watson and I looked at each other in bewilderment, then to Holmes. "What do you mean, yes?" Watson asked curiously. "Yes to the fact that those are the only places we can think of?" Holmes stayed quiet, raising his brows in amusement. "Yes to the _rooftops_?" Watson burst out into a fit of laughter, but when Holmes stayed silent, he intstantly grew serious. "You've got to be kidding me."

"You know me better than that," he said with a pleased smirk.

"The rooftops, Holmes," Watson snickered. "That's not a joke, that's suicide."

Holmes looked over to him, before cracking another grin. "Then I suppose we'll have to watch our balance."

~.~.~.~.~

We were at my house later that evening. We were going to go out soon, to invesitage, but I wanted to help my mother get ready to leave for the hotel. Watson and Holmes sat patiently on my couch, although a bit awkward. My mother scurried around like a bird, clucking and complaining about everything.

"Mother, you only need one dress!" I scoffed, pulling out three from her suitcase. "If you would stop acting so childish, I would let your bring two."

"Oh, please let me take two," my mother whined. I paused, eventually sinking in and putting another one back into her case. "Well if I would have known how quickly you would have agreed to that, I would have asked you to put in two more!"

I laughed, playfully nudging her arm. "Mother, you really ought to stop acting so foolish." I placed her combs in the case as well, then closed it gently. We both stared down at it. I felt her hand grip mine. Neither of us wanted to be in this situation, but I didn't want to get hurt. And she didn't want me to get hurt. "You know I'm only doing this because I worry."

"Even if you didn't dearest, I would be getting out of here," she said, a somber laugh escaping her lips. She patted my hand, and let go, facing Watson and Holms. "I expect you two to take extra good care of my daughter, yes?"

They nodded, giving her comforting smiles. I watched all three of them carefully before hanging my head. I thought all of this was going to be over, but it seemed like it was only getting started. There was nothing I could do to get out of it now. I had to press on, and try and get rid of this killer. "The driver is probably anxious to go mother," I said softly. "You should probably leave."

She nodded, walking towards me as her heels clipped on the hard floor. Her large arms found their way around my small body as she squeezed the air out of me. "You better take care of those gentlemen, because I gaurentee you that they need it!" I laughed, kissing the top of her head.

"Take care of yourself mother," I said as she headed towards the door. After she had left, we all sat there for a moment, reagathering ourselves. We knew what we were about to do, and frankly all of us were scared. "We're really going out to look for Henry." I stated the blunt truth that all of us were thinking. He was a large man, probably slow, but he was seeking to kill me. I wasn't entirely thrilled.

"On the contrary, we know where he'll be."

"The rooftops," Watson sighed heavily. "The rooftops of London, because that will make it so much easier to find him. A small little man, on one of the roofs of London."

I was scanning things over in my head. "There would only really be a few options of where he would be, right? Parliment, the newspaper editing company, my home, or your home." We stayed quiet. "That is, if he knew you were protecting me."

"He does, I'm sure of it. He wants us to be there." Watson said dryly. "Why wouldn't he?"

Holmes nodded. "I think he wants us there more than you."

"He does?" I laughed, suddenly confused. The whole situation was seeming to change. It was like they had known something all along that they hadn't been telling me.

"That's how most lunatics work," Watson explained. "In their minds they have a target, but of course they have to eliminate competition." He inclined his head. "That would be us."

I nodded, somewhat understanding. There wasn't much you could understand with the mind of someone like Henry, but I knew Watson and Holmes, and how their methods were often right. I wasn't going to not believe them now. "I suppose we should get going then," I whispered, wringing my hands together. "Where to start first?"

"Right above your head," Holmes said smoothly and quickly. "We'll start on your roof."


	19. Blind Spot

**Hey everyone! I'm so excited that the movie came out today. It's so wonderful, no? I watched it right away, melting every time Jude Law came onto the screen, but I evaporated every time our main man RDJ came in. Sigh. So handsome!**

**Anywho, I wanted to update because guess what! GASP! The story is almost over! SO PLEEEASE don't stop reviewing and adding favorites, telling people about the story, etc! I mean, look! WE'RE OVER 300 REVIEWS -throws confetti all over the place-**

**Right. So, the story... Heh-heh! It's almost over, and I'll be talking about sequel details later on. :) So contain yourself. But, if you're interested in reading another story any time soon, I have a poll on my home page that you might want to check out and see if any stories I want to write might interest you. If not, go ahead and randomly vote anyways. I don't really give a hoot. XD**

**Infinite X's and O's my partners in crime!**

**~mistro**

**P.S. I think after this chapter, there might be only one more left. D: **

**~.~.~.~.~**

Have you ever had those moments where, for whatever reason, your heart is positively leaping from your chest? You feel like your brain is calculating way too many things than it should be and your hands cannot stop shaking? The whole time you know there's a reason for all of it, but you're at such a loss that you can't even comprehend what's happening to you.

I was standing at the edge of my street, at the side of Emily's house. Before me a rusty ladder was attached to the wall. Watson was already half way up with Holmes not far behind him. They expected me to be on there as well, but I couldn't move. Everything I mentioned above was happening to me and I couldn't find the courage to walk up those steps. Eventually however, Holmes stopped in place as Watson kept climbing. Without even looking behind to see me, he shouted down. "Miss Adkins, I believe your boots are Chelsea boots, correct? The rubber lining on them is there for busy women at this day and age to perform tasks efficiently." I stared downwards at my feet with my mind still twirling. "If you were to be walking behind me at this moment in time, I suppose I would have heard you." He finally turned to face me, his face solemn. "Yet, I plainly see that you are not."

"Holmes, I-" Watson called from the top of the roof. He looked over the edge to see that neither of us were up there yet. "What on Earth is going on down there?"

Embarassingly, I took a step away from the ladder. "I'm awfully sorry," I cursed myself beneath my breath. I'd been going on all of these adventures and now all I had to do was walk up a ladder and I couldn't even do it. "Something awful is going to happen. I can sense it. I don't think we should go up there..."

"What is she saying?" Watson shouted down in confusion.

Holmes calmly directed his gaze to him. "Do you yourself find it a pity, Watson, that the moment I need you to remain silent you fail to do so, yet when it is the other way around your role is reversed?" Watson blinked a few times, pulling his hat lower over his face. "Thank you dear Watson, for sparing us your superfluious visual communication."

I could hear Watson scoff from above. "You know Holmes, the very fact that you're rambling on about my speech is only wasting our time. Which need I remind you, we have very little of!"

"Hurry Watson!" Holmes whispered up to him in a harsh whisper. "The more you talk, the less time we have!" He paused dramatically. Watson rolled his eyes and disappeared from sight. Sometimes, his friend was impossible. Turning his face down towards me, I saw him grow serious. "The game is afoot!" He extended his hand out towards me. "Take my hand, Renadale." He grunted, wrapping his arm around the ladder to keep his balance. "Mainly because this very position is hurting my upper arm, although I have the body strength-"

"Alright!" I whispered, placing my feet upon the steps. "I'm... on my way... to you." Gulping back my fear, I began to climb furthur upwards. The more I told myself I was merely climbing a ladder helped comfort me. Yet when I looked up to see Holmes and Watson still waiting for me, I was shot back into reality. My feet froze a few moments away from Holmes's hand. "I don't want to do this," I murmured, shaking my head back and forth.

The light wind from the rain was causing our hair to whip all over our faces. Angrily, I pushed it away to look at Holmes. He was still looking down at me with his hand extended. His face held a sort of sadness though. It was a look of... regret. My stomach began to twist into a knot. Why was the world's greatest detective feeling regret? Was that a sin for men like him? "Renadale..." He stuttered, but stopped himself. I watched him slowly curl his hand into a fist and bring it back onto the ladder. He nodded carefully. "If that is your wish."

"What?" Watson cried, leaning over the edge even furthur. "This is nonsense!" His eyes darted back and forth quickly as his voice dropped down into a hiss. "Henry could be up here this very instant and there's no room left for me to come back down the ladder! If we are going to leave, do make it hasty!"

I wanted to smile at Watson's own nervousy. Throughout all of the crazy happenstances Holmes drug him through during his life, he's always managed to stay with him. He's adapted to his friend's behaviors. Although they bickered, most of the time playfully, they always managed to be there for one another. Not only in cases, but in life itself. I knew Holmes was excited for Watson and Mary. He would just be losing his friend as well as his partner. How long had they even been together? The blow would be rough on anyone. And then I realized.

I wasn't scared of this case. I wasn't scared of Henry, either. I was afraid of change.

If I were to walk up this ladder with these two men, crack the case and finally get Henry out of my life, I would become famous. People might actually know my name. I didn't like people. I didn't want people to know my name! But in the end, it's not about the fame or publicity that one recieves. What I was doing was a good deed to humanity; to all of those innocent women killed. It could have been me. It could have easily of been me, if I wouldn't have accepted the job. "Wait!" I shouted to Holmes, who was beginning to climb down. My feet suddenly began to tingle and I rushed up the ladder towards him. "Keep going, I've changed my mind!"

Smirking, Holmes began to climb upwards. "Well I was hoping you would have arrived at that conclusion sooner or later. Later, I suppose," he paused, climbing up onto the roof next to Watson. "Is certainly better than never." As I crawled onto the roof along with them, I watched as Holmes brushed a bit of dust off of Watson's vest.

"When was the last time you washed your hands?" Watson laughed, swatting him away. "I'm not your pet." Holmes continued to straighten his friend up as Watson continued swatting.

"You're not?" Holmes said, obviously amused. "Then why is it that I'm constantly having to feed you, care for your health and so on and so forth?"

Watson paused a moment before he answered. "You do that with _my_ money! And besides. The only thing you have on me if my bank. And that's only because I asked you to help me." Watson began to laugh as Holmes cracked a bemused smile. I stood, my smile now spreading across my face. I was unable to hide it. These two men were my friends. The only friends I seemed to have. Yet, I was perfectly content with the idea. "You are also making me look like an utter fool in front of Miss Adkins," Watson clarified.

"On the contrary," Holmes said, patting his back. "You do that yourself, old boy."

I wanted to smile, but my surroundings distracted me. "The winds are strong up here," I said, wrapping my arms tighter around myself. "If Henry is up on the roofs, it's going to be quite an interesting experience catching him." As if on cue, I heard something click. My eyes darted towards Holmes, watching him flip a gun over delicately in his hands. "Or... not."

"We'll only use it if neccesary," Watson explained. He paused a short moment, his tired eyes glued to the gun. "Yet most of the time it is neccesary." I took a step backwards. Even the sight of it made me nervous. "Come on," Watson said with a heavy sigh. "Henry could be anywhere."

We all held our tongues for a moment and looked around the area. The homes on my street were all connected. Their roofs were all one, so luckily for me I wouldn't have to be jumping rooftops. Regardless, there were many houses and it was a long street. Chimneys and pipes erupted from the roofs, which Henry could have easily been behind that entire time. The idea seemed a bit silly; having a murderer hide behind a chimney, but Henry obviously did whatever he needed to not be found. "If he's here," I whispered to Watson. "He's awfully quiet."

Holmes scanned the area like a hawk. No one said a word. I thought we should probably leave, because it seemed as though we were just wasting time, but something held me from saying it. And that something was Holmes. Before I could think any furthur, he stepped forward, cocking his gun at a certain chimney, pulling the trigger in a blur. I gasped, stepping behind Watson in a panic attack. "Are you insane?" Watson cried, grabbing the edge of his hat as though it were about to blow off from his head.

Holmes said nothing. Instead, he took a step closer, shooting again at the chimney. Bits of red brick tumbled to the ground with a thud. I wondered what the poor family inside must have thought. It didn't matter though, because this time, I saw a figure run across behind another one. Holmes tucked the gun in his pocket. "You've got nowhere else to go," he said carefully. "And neither do we." Henry didn't show himself. "If we want any end to this, one of us has to meet with the other eventually."

"I've got a gun you know!" We heard a voice crack behind a chimney about twenty feet away. "I can easily shoot you from here."

"No, in fact I don't think you can do such a thing," Sherlock replied wisely. He pulled his own gun from his pocket. "Firstly, because you can't stand the idea of killing me." Watson and I quickly looked towards one another in confusion. "I'm different, just like you. Or, so you've said." I watched Holmes's chest carefully rise up and down. He was nervous about something, but I didn't know what. "You have no idea how the newspaper company works at all. In fact, you can't even read. I compared your writing in previous documents that Lestrade had shown me to the note that said 'parliment'. The two penmanships were entirely different, despite Lestrade's expliation. Handwriting defines people. I study that sort of thing." I sighed. Of course he did. "Whoever wrote it for you had to have been one of your men. Those men didn't even bow down to you, like they proclaimed to my partners before they were executed. They were all men with hidden secrets, such as the Russian who was illegally living in England. You threatened them by telling their secrets to the press if they didn't work for you. The main reason you joined the company was to deliver papers near my home."

"Shut up!" Henry shouted, interrupting him. He stepped out from behind the chimney, his gun carefully clasped between his hands. "You have no idea what you're talking about! What do you know about me at all? You're making it out to seem like I'm your greatest fan, when I want nothing to do with you!"

"Then shoot me," Sherlock said darkly. I gasped, unable to stop myself from clasping a hand in front of my mouth. Henry's eyes suddenly shot towards me. I saw nothing but a malicious grin on his face.

"Perhaps I can make you suffer, and shoot the girl."

Holmes raised a delicate hand. I was shaking incrediously, but Watson was pressing me furthur backwards. No matter what, he was planning on taking a bullet for me. I wouldn't let that happen if something were to go amiss. Yet, Holmes was so calm that I didn't think anything would. "No, wait, I'm not quite finished. Would you like to know why you were so dedicated to working by me?" Henry turned his gun back to Holmes, narrowing his eyes. "You are an insane man... or so you claim. Your targets are those who are different as well. But there's always been one person that you've been after the entire time. There's been one person that you wanted to get the attention of." He stopped talking, staying silent. We all knew who he meant however. He was talking about himself. "What would be better than getting the attention of possibly the most different man in all of England?" His voice dropped to a soft whisper as he came to his final word. My heart strings were being pulled, and like a child I rushed out behind Watson and over to Holmes. I stared at him from behind. It took him a moment, but he knew I was there. He turned his head and stared at me for a minute or two. I made no move towards him. I hoped he could read the message in my nervous eyes. _Don't do anything stupid. _

"Oh, now isn't that sweet," Henry laughed, pointing his gun even closer to us. "The mad detective has found someone special." His yellow toothed grin soon turned sour. I couldn't help but wonder if I had actually just made things worse. "Both of you... simply mad together. If I killed both of you right now, I could have the greatest attention in the world. Sherlock Holmes and his lover. I can see the headlines now!" His hands were shaking just as much as mine, but I wasn't letting go. "Wouldn't that be fun?"

"I've said it before," Sherlock said slowly. "You can't kill me."

Henry glared furiously at him, now shouting. "Why not? Who are you to tell me what I am going to do and what I am not? You don't know my mind, even though you think you do! You're just as mad as me! You're a freak, and everyone realizes it but you! If I were to shoot you right now, I would be the most famous man in London!"

"It wouldn't support your cause," Waston said, stepping closer to Henry. "What you were setting out to do this whole time. No one would remember you as a man who tried to stand up for what he believed in, but just as the devil who killed Sherlock Holmes and his partners."

Henry laughed, pointing his gun at Watson. Watson flinched a bit, shutting his eyes. His thoughts flooded of Mary. It was obvious. I saw Holmes brush his elbow against the gun in the back of his pants. Holmes didn't move, but he did take a tight hold of it. "You're right, doctor. That's exactly right. I'm not going to kill you, you know that."

"You're going to let us kill you," I said softly. "That way we look like the villians."

He cracked another grin. "I've already gotten all of London's attention. Now that this is my final performance, I wouldn't expect the audience to not have a good ending. With this gun, I can change the future," he slowly brought the gun to his head. "I can make people equal with sacrifice."

"No you won't Henry," I said, my eyes growing wide. "You don't have to do this."

He sighed dramatically. Everything was being to feel so surreal. He wouldn't really shoot himself! I wouldn't see someone die before my eyes! "Oh but you see? I do. And in the end, you will have all the hatred of the insane on your hands, for killing one of them. And for that, I say, farewell."

Before I could utter another word, I heard a gunshot ring out. Yelping in fear, I jumped backwards. The smoke began to clear and when it did, I saw Holmes standing, his gun perfectly placed before him. Henry's left leg was bleeding. His eyes grew wide, his open jaw quivering. "Bastard!" He shouted, pulling a gun from his left pocket, pointing it at Holmes. With a scream, he pulled the trigger. I felt a strong hand push me down on the ground. Another gun shot ran through the air. Holmes are I began to crawl, not being able to see clearly in the dark through the smoke.

In a moment, I couldn't feel him anymore and I was crawling all over the place with more bullets seeming to whizz past my head. "Holmes!" I heard Watson shout. I crawled over to where Watson was earlier. His hands were gripping Holmes's leg, hauling him up.

"Very good reflexes Watson!" Holmes said as he crawled back onto the roof after falling off. I sighed in relief, happy that I hadn't seen him fall. In my stupidity, I would have jumped off after him. We heard a few clicking noises, but no more bullets.

"Fools!" Henry shouted, tossing his empty gun on the rooftop. "You're nothing but fools! One day I'll win!" Quickly and without a thought, Watson flung his gun out of his pocket, aimed it straight at Henry's chest and pulled the trigger. All three of us sat in silence as we watched Henry grip his breast and slump over.

"What a surprise," Holmes breathed, out of breath. "You're actually worth something."

"Yes," Watson said, raising his brows. "What a surprise."

"How did you know he wasn't going to shoot himself?" I asked, looking at Holmes with wide eyes.

"The gun he put to his head had no bullets in it. When he walked toward us, he had a slight limp, one side of his body seeming heavier than the other. He carried another gun in his left pocket, large and fully loaded." He shut his eyes, leaning against the edge of a chimney. I sighed heavily, leaning back as well. Watson shortly followed.

"Watson?" Holmes said in the silence. "Perhaps you may redeem yourself once again and check his pulse." Meekly, Watson crawled over to Henry. His fingers lifted up the murderer's wrist. After a moment, he shrugged. "Brilliant deduction, Watson," Holmes said heavily. I looked over at him sincerely. His eyes were closed, the wind blowing his hair away from his face. A smile spread across my face. His fingers found my hand. I felt the back of my hand brush his own and ever so lightly his fingers brush against mine.

"I wonder when I'll get used to this," I whispered, so softly. My very words made me blush. I meant the case, but it could have easily meant something else. "But now that it's over... I guess I have to start cleaning again, don't I?"

He cracked open his eyes, tilting his head to look at me more clearly. "Cleaning? That's nonsense. I don't even understand what that word means." I smiled even wider. "However. I wouldn't mind if when I returned home from the area, you accompanied me.." He mumbled this in a blur, almost embarassed to say the very words himself. I grew a deep red, trying to surpress my laughter. "I'm rather hungry and I'm not one for making eggs..."

Watson smirked from above. "Get up," he laughed, shaking his head. "Talk about this when I'm not here. We've still got to get Lestrade, and let the papers know." Holmes and I looked at one another. It wasn't over quite yet. We needed to tell everyone that they were safe. Thanks to us.

The words were like candy in my mouth.

Thanks to Holmes, Watson- and maybe, if only a little bit, me. Adkins.


	20. Renadale & The Woman

**kind of a mumbo jumbo chapter. I just wanted to find a way to present the ending. ANYWAYS! I hope you like it, but after you read it- STAY TUNED FOR AN AUTHOR'S NOTE. I'll probably post it tomorrow, so keep your eyes peeled. It'll talk about the sequel and I'll ask some questions. ;) **

**I really can't explain how much it means to me about all the reviews I've gotten... I'll go more into that in the author's note though. ^^**

**Peace, Punch & Captian Crunch,**

**~mistro, holmes, watson and of course, renadale**

**~.~.~.~**

The next thing I knew, I was in the station again. Watson's pale fingers were wrapped around Henry's lifeless, and even paler wrist. He looked up at Holmes and I with a blank expression on his face. Gently, he set his arm back down on the table. "He's dead," he said rather softly to Lestrade.

Lestrade looked at the small, red man strewn across his table. "Of course he is. You shot him in the heart." Watson's eyes grew wide as though in guilt, but Lestrade quickly calmed him with a rare smile. Hestitantly, Watson cracked a smile as well. The whole scene caused me to join in with a smirk of my own. My eyes were glued to Henry, but I couldn't help thinking: Maybe this was what he wanted. Maybe he wanted to die in the end. Sure, he would have killed us, but who ever said he wasn't going to kill himself next?

"Finding him on the roof was so obvious," I whispered, a little too loudly.

Someone's hand suddenly found my shoulder. I looked up into the soft face of Holmes. His eyes were glued to Henry, but he wasn't happy. There was no sparkle or delight in his eyes. "Your brain astounds me Miss Adkins." I didn't know what he was talking about in particular, but I had to smile regardless. "You are absolutely correct."

"He wanted to die."

Lestrade's brows suddenly went up. "He... wanted to die?" He questioned, his eyes darting to each of us in confusion as though he would find the answer on his face. "Let's say that's so. Why was he setting out to kill all of these people, including yourselves if he only wanted death to come upon him?"

Watson carefully lifted a blanket over the body, afterwards directing his attention back to Lestrade. "He wanted to get as much attention as he could. And when he met his goal, he wanted to be proud of everything he had done. He can't try to change the world in jail. That's absurd."

"He _was _absurd," I mumbled, watching men carry off the body. "Yet... somewhere in me feels like this wasn't right. I feel like letting him die doesn't seem like the fair thing to do." All three of them shot their heads towards me in surprise. Only Holmes had a look on his face as though he understood what I was getting at. "Don't you see? No one in this bloody town has the nerve to stand up anymore." Self conscious of their stares, I wrapped my arms furthur around myself. "He actually said something. I think that takes a lot of nerve... doing a thing like that."

"It's a shame he didn't come across it in a more peaceful way," Lestrade said with a heavy sigh. The body was finally gone. We all knew the case was over. "Maybe he would have gotten more attention that way."

Watson's smile flickered across his face again. "On the contrary, inspector. I think he got exactly the attention he wanted."

Watson was right. Henry had succeeded in getting the press and parliment's attention. Of course it wasn't exactly in the way that he wanted, but the papers did make a note about his intentions for equal rights. Some people nodded their head in agreement. Some despised the idea and tossed the papers away at first read. And others, well, they were actually interested in the case.

Unfortunately, I had made a name for myself. No one actually knew my name, but rather adressed me as the lovely young lady who helped those detective fellows. "What are their titles again?" I would hear someone say on the street. The other one flailed like mad, as though the person they were talking to was incredibly stupid as to not know our names. "Sherlock Holmes, and Dr. John Watson, you fool! Don't you read, for the love of God!" Of course I only heard that one time. By now, Holmes had to be the greatest detective in all of England. Perhaps even the world. Somewhere inside of me wanted to boast about him, but even after the case he hung around inside, keeping his distance like he had at first. For him, I said nothing.

We of course got my mother out of the hotel immediately after we left the station. She fussed an awful lot actually. Probably because Watson payed for the hotel, which was, for lack of better words extravagant. My mother always had some secret dream in her head that she was actually a descendant of English royalty. I never said anything. We can all dream, right? I know I certainly do.

It's been three days since the case ended. Henry is buried in a small little area in a cemetary furthur down town from my house. I found it rather nice that they did such a thing. Most criminals were dumped into holes, no tombstone to be seen. Despite his criminal ways, people did rather like Henry. To his credit, I believed him to be a good man before he decided to let his true psychotic nature shine. Occassionally, if I would happen to walk past, I'll stop at his grave for a small reminder of what had happened.

And instead of frowning, I would smile, because he had helped me meet some awfully wonderful people.

~.~.~.~.~

"You've got to be joking me," Watson huffed in anger, three days later. We were all lounging around in Holmes's room, entirely bored out of our minds. Watson was crouched down over a small lizard like animal, it's feet sticking to the glass. "How on Earth did you find this?"

Holmes spun his violin bow around his finger, a slight smirk planted on his face. "Do you recall that trip to South Africa?" Watson raised a brow slowly. "Of course, how could you forget. In that case, that is called a Bibron Gecko. It's considered a household pest, so I merely did them a favor and took one for myself."

Watson slowly stood up, eyeing his friend curiously. "So, you're telling me, that you took one of these because it was a pest to people there." Holmes quickly danced his fingers across the strings, playing a rather obnoxious tune. "I'll take that as a yes. But honestly, you? Having a pet? That's possibly the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. You've killed my dog at least eighteen times now."

"Our dog."

"No, Holmes."

"Gladstone is not yours."

"Yes, Holmes."

"Did you pay for that dog? I believe it was I who handed over the pounds."

"It was my money, Sherlock-"

"It's splendid," I remarked, crouching over the back of the couch to take a better look at it on the table behind me. It's sticky feet quickly took it across to the front of the glass, almost so it could have a better look at me. "Look!" I laughed. "I think it's taken a liking to me."

Holmes quickly shot up from his chair, joining me on the couch. We both stared at the small critter locked inside the glass. The lizard looked at Holmes with a small, green cocked head before skittering off again to his previous wall. I grinned, laughing in amusement. "Well, that's quite a surprise! I have finally met someone who isn't impressed by the great Sherlock Holmes."

Watson snickered from across the room. "It's taken you that long? I've been standing here for ages," with a roll of his eyes, he left the room as I continued to laugh.

"Alright, I take that back," I said, smiling and nudging him. "Watson seems to fit that description." Holmes looked over to me with a slight smile. It was a moment where you looked a little bit too long into the person's eyes... the moment where you knew your heart wasn't yours anymore. A stabbing feeling split my stomach, as my mind suddenly whirled into a distant memory.

_"Mother!" Renadale shouted, her light pink dress bouncing around her ankles as she skipped across the feild. Daisies were tightly gripped in her unnaturally small for her age hands as she pulled her mother into a tight hug._

_Her mother tumbled backwards, steading herself as her daughter handed her the flowers. "Darling, those are very lovely. How about you go inside and show them to your father. Tell him to put them in a vase." Renadale smiled up at her mother, who patted her dark curls happily. "Mommy's going into town for some tea with friends, so you run along now."_

_Without another word, Renadale rushed inside the house, the flowers even more tightly held in her hands. "Father!" She shouted, giggling as she burst in the door. "I've picked you these!" _

_A tall man with white hair and a white beard looked up from the dining room table where he seemed to be setting up plates for lunch. "Well, you have now, have you?" He chuckled, gently peeling them from her fingers. "Those will look lovely on the table at lunch." Renadale rocked back and forth on her heels, her smile unmissable. "You have the prettiest smile, my Renadale." He leaned down, lifting her chin with his finger._

_Renadale smiled, looking into his rich brown eyes. "I love you, papa." _

_He planted a soft kiss on her head. "I love you too, my sweet. Now come out to the back yard. I've gathered you some supplies for an invention." Renadale's eyes grew wide as her father lead her to the back of their country house. _

"I'm sorry," I breathed, coming out of my daydream. "Your eyes... they reminded me of my father, and I..." I stopped myself short, not wanting to go into much detail. "Well, I was just thinking of him, that's all." Hopping off the couch, I walked over to the window. "It's finally a lovely day, have you noticed?"

I knew he was looking at me. I couldn't mistake the feeling on his huge brown eyes on me anywhere. "Of course I have." I heard the couch creek, and two seconds later I felt someone standing close behind me. "It's hard to miss when you're standing in the way of it." A small grin rose on my face. I reached behind me, grabbing his forearms. Carefully, I slid them around my waist. I felt him straighten up, clearing his throat uncomfortably.

"Are you always going to be this uncomfortable around me?" I whispered, leaning my head agains this shoulder, my hair brushing aganist his cheek. I shut my eyes, burying my face into the crook of his neck. I felt his grip tighten around my waist, but he stayed silent. It was a rather intimate gesture. Since the case had ended, I had barely seen him. I had to help my mother relax and come back home and just spend some time with her. Today I finally went back to work... if you could call it that. I still didn't like going out in public. But something about him changed me. It was just him. He could trick me into anything; even affection.

Before I could think of anything anymore, I felt his head turn so he was looking down at me. "Honestly, yes. However if you wish for me to say otherwise in order to make your romantic companionship with me at the moment strengthen, then I shall say no, of course I do not feel that-" I reached up on my toes, my lips bumping into his. His eyes grew wide in surprise.

"You really don't need to go into detail," I laughed softly, spinning around so I was facing him again. There was something I needed to tell him. I actually didn't need to tell anyone, but I felt like I should. I wanted him to know, for a strange reason. "I've never kissed anyone before," I blurted out hurridly beneath my breath. "Only you." He blinked a few times, his expression unreadable. Perhaps it wasn't actually needed. "I just wanted you to know that. I'm not quite sure why, but I do."

His brow raised swiftly. "Honestly?" He grunted. "My assumptions were wrong."

I paused in thought. Did he just say he was wrong...? For once?

"Your methods of displaying affection through anatomical nature were rather, comforting, I suppose. It was almost as though you had already experienced the situation before and in that case, knew what you were doing. Perhaps... I should investigate furthur."

We both looked at each other for a moment. "I must confess, however," I said after a moment of each of us holding the other. "When I was younger, I used to lead a country life. I was always very secluded, but since moving into the city, I've fallen for someone before. But every time since then..." Holmes face suddenly dropped, but he nodded his head anyways, understanding. He wasn't the first, and he was alright with that. Only, that assumption was also wrong. "It's only been you." I looked up at his slightly crazy dark hair with an urge to run my fingers through it. Without a second thought, I leaned forward again, collapsing into him with a gentle kiss.

"You always have a way of surprising me, Miss Adkins," he said, finally smiling. "With your permission, I wish to look more into you as time passes."

"Are you suggesting that I am going to be an ongoing investigation?"

"That is the way it was presented."

"Oh, and what of your other cases?"

"I was presuming that since my partner was to be married, you could accompany me on those cases. In a way, it would benefit because I would be figuring out two cases at once."

I was unable to contain my joy. "Of course I shall accept that offer. However, I must warn you that I am a hard case to crack, and it might take some time." He smirked, his brow raising once more. It was a lie. If he said the word, I was his. But, I had to keep the fun going. I had to play it with edge. "If you are indeed, up to it."

I could feel his body come closer towards mine. My heart began to beat faster and faster. I placed my palm on his chest, curious to see if his was beating as fast as mine was. "It's a rather odd feeling," he mumbled, his voice suddenly low and nervous. "Looking at you somehow rushes and slows my heart in a way that most doctors must find unhealthy."

Leaning up, I wrapped my arm around his back, pressing him closer to me. We kissed once more, a strange feeling of peace filling my mind. I honestly didn't mind. I didn't mind it at all. "The doctors will have to wait to investigate," I mumbled between kisses. "I'm not quite ready to give you up yet." His fingers were beginning to knot themselves into my hair when a knock on the door interrupted us again. "Perhaps if we stay very still..."

"Holmes!" Watson cried out, flinging the door open. Quickly, he moved away from me and we positioned ourselves properly on the couch. Watson didn't seem to notice our flushed faces as he jumped in front of us. "Mary is coming back into town!"

Holmes and I looked at one another in confusion. "We were aware."

"Yes, but a letter has come for you, and well..." Watson's eyes quickly darted towards me before returning to Sherlock. They were discerning. I wondered what I had to do with anything, but it was clear that I did. "I don't think she is the only one stopping by for a visit." I sat with a frown still on my face. I didn't know who they were talking about, but I hoped I would soon find out. I glanced over at Holmes to try and read his face, but he sat very still, his eyes wide with sudden worry.

"A woman?" Watson nodded. Holmes's eyes grew even wider. "...The... woman?"

"Yes, the woman."

A sinking feeling in my heart caused me to stand up from the seat as my brows tightly knitted together "This woman is a friend of yours?" Watson and Holmes both began to mumble inaudible things. "Well, I can see she has certainly got your tongues."

"She is nothing of huge importance, more of a mutual aqquiantance," Watson huffed, adjusting his vest. "Do not get me wrong, she's lovely, but she's only bad news." Holmes stayed silent, but his fingers were twisting themselves around one another like mad. "I can tell her to leave. Even though we both know she won't."

There was an ear splitting silence. "Of course not, Watson. If she's here, she is here for a reason. There must be another case." Holmes stood up, his eyes darting between the two of us. Slowly, he pulled a pipe out of his pocket. Watson and I's hearts were stopping in our chest, but Holmes only looked towards me. "Renadale, the game is afoot!"


	21. SEQUEL INFO!

I know the ending was kind of short, and not too descriptive, but I wanted to get things set up for the NEXT ONE! YAHOO! I'm not doing anything this weekend really, but after Sunday is our Music Man performance, so I won't be able to update all of next week, probably until Monday. I'll try, but I can't promise you anything, although I wish I could.:(

I'm sure you've picked up on someone who might be stopping by in the sequel. ;)

At any rate, I'll start thinking up some mysteries to solve right now. It's Friday- which means that I'm watching my weekly 7-12 Criminal Minds. That's right, 5 hours baby. So, I'm in a serial killer/mystery mind set right now. Which is good, because then I can try and get my story started. :]

So, basically, the reason I was typing this note up was to thank you all so incredibly much for reviewing and reading my story. I mean, I can't tell you how much it means to me, that you're all there, just waiting for me to post. Haha, it makes me want to write, even though lately I've had little time. I never stop moving, it seems. XD Anyways! Thanks again, so much, and I really really hope you all come back and read the next installment! Don't abandon me yet guys!

If you have any suggestions, places you'd like to see our characters go, people you'd like to see them meet (made up, real, whatever) just post a review, and I'll read em all, seeing which ones might fit into the story!

Infinite X's and O's,

~mistro


	22. Update!

Hey everyone! The fourth installment of the Holmes Stories has been posted. Please read and review!

Much love

Xx

mistro


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